


Time and Transmutations

by Preelikeswriting



Series: Through the Gate [3]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, Death Eaters are not good people, Depression, Draco Malfoy is a Good Friend, Draco is not having a good time, Everyone swears a lot, JK Rowling Can Eat a Brick, Lots of Bad Choices are Made, Negative Thoughts, Panic Attacks, Slow Burn, because I swear a lot, slooooooow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2020-11-26 05:22:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 62,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20924843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Preelikeswriting/pseuds/Preelikeswriting
Summary: Time is running out for Ed to return home to Amestris, but in order to get back, there are some things he needs to do first. Unfortunately, despite his best efforts Ed's decided that he actually likes people here and doesn't want to see them all killed. Caught between his loyalty to both worlds, the days are slipping away.(Pre-Promise Day, HP book 7)





	1. The Morning Sky is Red

Draco tried to enjoy the shower, the hot water clearing away the lingering feeling of dirt and grime that magic just couldn't vanish away. He’d refused, for almost two weeks, to be pulled away from Ed’s side. He knew it wasn't logical but he was haunted by the irrational belief that the moment he looked away… He’d be gone. Gone, just vanished into the thin air, taking with him Draco's last fragment of control. 

He knew it was irrational, but the fear persisted even though every time he looked, Ed remained where he'd lain since Draco had awoken far from Hogwarts.

Ed's body was eating itself.

Draco didn’t think he was meant to hear that, thought that maybe Dumbledore’s ragtag army had believed he was far to gone to be eavesdropping. And hell, maybe they had been right, he didn't remember much else from just after he woke up.

In any case, they should never have forgotten who his mother was, nor the things that she had taught him. People called him his father's son, but it was his mother that had shown him that under no circumstances could he allow himself to be disadvantaged. It was her lessons that had become instinctual, lingering in his subconscious even when the rest of his mind was lost deep in the tides of anxiety and fear for the future.

"If people underestimated you, use it. If people overestimated you, use that too," She whispered inside his head, "but above all else, never stop listening,"

He may not have had the ability, the mental wherewithal, to physically draw himself away from the side of his friend until now, but he still had two working ears, and he could still listen.

Their entire situation screamed danger, screamed complication and inevitable punishment when they were finally retrieved by the Death Eaters. It wouldn’t matter to The Dark Lord that neither Ed or himself had tried to flee or willingly go with this “Order”, Draco had failed him, and that was all that mattered. The fact that he hadn't returned to be punished would only make the inevitable worse. Voldemort didn't accept excuses and he was never going to let them go.

In the dark of night, when the house was asleep, when Draco was alone with the faint sound of Edward’s breathing and his own thoughts, he couldn’t help but wonder if he would last long enough to see the other boy's eyes open again. He’d been assured, many times, that Ed would wake up. But Draco knew how to spot a lie, and he knew they didn’t have a clue. He also knew that his own time was limited.

The Order couldn’t protect him from Voldemort’s wrath, nor could he think of a reason they would want to. He had, after all, tried to kill Dumbledore. It failed of course, because how could it not? Even now, he had no idea how he’d managed to delude himself into believing he'd ever had a chance of coming out on top. Desperation, he assumed, stupid, naive, desperation.

A knock came on the door, tentative in a way Draco found absurd, it was her house after all. He didn't understand her softness towards him, he didn't understand how she didn't hate the sight of his face. He knew she was capable of it, she did, after all, have the same eyes as Aunt Bella. He tucked his towel around his waist and opened the door. His aunt silently extended her arms towards him, delivering a stack of clothes. They were his. His, his, in a way nothing had been since he’d awoken here. They weren’t the far too big muggle jumpers he’d been drowning in, the rough fabrics that made his skin crawl with a sense of wrongness, they were his.

Draco saw the act for what it was, a peace offering, and while he couldn’t quite bring himself to thank her, he did accept the gift.

He didn’t know what to make of her presence here, he’d never met her before, she’d been disowned years before he was born, she was… a forbidden topic in a sense. Draco truthfully hadn’t even known he had another aunt until he was nearly seven when he’d found a hidden photo of his mother, aunt Bella, and… her. Andromada.

His mother had taken it from him, and in careful hushed tones told him he was never to speak of her, that her older sister had committed a horrible sin against their family, that in the eyes of all that mattered- she was dead.

But even then, he was not so innocent that he couldn’t see the secret pain in his mother’s gaze. But he'd done what she'd said, and never spoke a word about it.

He slipped on the clothes, they were weekend wear from his trunk at school, meaning someone had gone back and retrieved his things. Someone had gone into his room and packed up his stuff, taken his textbooks and Christmas presents all stashed out of the way and brought them… here. He wondered if anyone had protested if Blaise had wondered where he’d gone, where Ed had gone. What had they said? Had they said anything at all? It felt almost sinister as if all traces of him were being erased, plucked from the places his memory lingered.

It had been weeks now, and still nothing. No punishment, no censure, no one had even spoken to him about what had happened in the Astronomy Tower. He’d awoken here, in his aunt’s home, lying on one of two beds in a small guest room beside Ed, and then… nothing. 

The only time there had been any sort of activity was when they realized Ed wasn’t waking up. 

Which brought him again back to the fact that Ed’s body was eating itself. 

He wondered if Ed was cursed. If his mysterious illness before was linked to his suffering now. He wondered if this was one of the possible violent side effects of being tortured. If maybe it was in response to Dumbledore’s spell, or any of the other spells thrown around the school- He wondered if maybe it was his fault. 

Fuck knows. 

It felt good to be wearing his own things, like strapping on armor or a second skin. It might not have been much, but it made him feel a little less naked in the face of everything. 

The air as he stepped out of the bathroom was chilled against his damp skin and he was once again reminded of how different things were now. The bathroom opened into the small sitting room, a room of bland wallpaper and dotted with ill colored and overstuffed furniture and most prominently, Ted. 

The muggleborn, his uncle by law, looked up at the sound of the door opening and nodded in Draco’s direction. And like a coward, Draco fled rather than risk further interaction. 

Ed hadn’t moved, not that Draco had expected him too, and the golden light around him continuing to cast eerie shadows across his waxy skin. The spell, monitoring him, reported back to some unseen figure, cast and configured all in the brief moments of sleep Draco had been able to steal. He might have lost it at the sight of the unknown magic if he didn’t recognize it from the time Lizzy lost her temper during their second year and put a Ravenclaw boy in the hospital wing. It had been a weird thing, a blatant show of force in front of witnesses and Draco had never been able to find out why she’d done it. 

His eyes were drawn to the other things were surrounding Ed too, muggle medical equipment, charged with keeping him fed and hydrated even while he slept. He reached out, towards where tube connected to Ed's flesh arm but pulled back sharply when his movements agitated the monitor spell as it did anytime he got too close. 

“Fuck-“ Draco choked out as he half-collapsed into a sitting position onto his bed, “fuck, please- please, just wake up. I’m going crazy here, I don’t know what’s going on,” he begged.

But of course, there was no response. 

—-

Ed sat, back against his gate, staring down Truth. He had no idea how long he’d been there, time was… fluid in between worlds. The void was endless in every direction and without anything you could use to orient yourself, and what little that did exist within the portal of Truth had a habit of moving arbitrarily. Or, as Ed liked to think of it as, whenever They sensed it would fuck with him the most. 

Al was here, but always, always, just out of reach. He’d been trying for… well, for a while now to reach him but to no avail. Ed was sure Truth could bring them together, but the being instead had decided to make something of a teaching moment out of Ed’s helplessness. 

It was because the universes were biting at him, railing against his presence as they attempted to heal the wound ripped into the very fabric of their realities, Truth had explained.

Ed was trying really hard not to take it personally, and at that, he was failing quite incredibly. 

Ed didn't know if this was Truth’s version of a timeout, a stop-and-think-about-what-you’ve-done moment, or if his body really was as damaged as Truth had told him it was. He’d been “magically overtasked”, his body, built in a world of order and careful give and take, had shut down after not being able to deal with the sheer about of magic running through it. 

And, uh, well, the Death Eaters could most certainly go fuck themselves for that bullshit. 

Ed let out a low sigh, trying not to let the silence get to him. Truth, the bastard that they were, had exposited all over him and promptly left him in the void without another word. There was something deeply and fundamentally unsettling about being left alone in a void, something about being unable to orient yourself any which way, unsure of what around him was reality and what was a figment of his mind. He tried to find something to anchor himself to, something to pull him back to his body or to his home or however the powerful grin of the universe wished to pull him.

There was a risk in it. A risk that the unknowable forces would rip him to shreds like a scythe through grain, unmoved by his little show of protest. But Ed knew that nothing would be accomplished within the void. Sure there was a risk he could be crushed and die, but if he remained, though it could take longer, he was sure his end was inevitable anyway.

The greater the risk, the greater the reward as the adage went.

Without any external stimuli, it was easy to turn his thoughts inward but in doing so it became easy to become distracted by the same absence. Quite was good for meditation, but silence? Absolute absence of sound? That was torture. That painfully watchful and paranoid center of your brain would always be straining for some sensory input, for some sort of indication of… well, anything.

The human body was not built to exist in isolation.

It made Ed wonder if that was why Truth was the way they were. If in the face of all that great and terrible absence the only thing that could exist was something great and terrible in its own right.

So, to break the silence, rather than remain still in the way that Izumi had taught, Ed flicked the fingers of his automail hand to send a faint ringing sound out across the void. The sound wasn’t right, it didn’t reverberate or dampen as it should have, but it was sound nonetheless, and Ed was used to working with what he had.

As he sunk further into himself, there was, not quite what you would call warmth, but something like it. He let his senses expand like he would as if he was seeking out magic, looking into the nooks and crannies for the tether that tied him down to reality, to his body.

He called to it and through it, down to his body abandoned somewhere in a foreign dimension, reaching out, begging to be put back where he belonged.

As he neared the edge of Truth he began to hear whispers, faint words that filled the space around him. Some of them, wizards, some of them, his friends home in Amestris that he desperately longed to return too, and some of them, strangers, their accents and words falling on unfamiliar ears. But he knew them all for what they were, murmurs from the universes he was split open on, lifeblood seeping out of him as he fought to remain whole.

**“Will you return little Alchemist?”**

The whispers fell away, and even though his eyes had been closed, Ed found himself staring down the void’s master themself. “Yes,” Ed said firmly, “And then once I returned to my body I will pull myself through The Gate and I will return to my home,”

**“But you see that your time is short? That every time you grow nearer to the land of your birth, subconsciously drifting, it will be harder to pull back, harder to break free from what binds you?”**

“I do, but it won’t stop me. People are counting on me, my friends are counting on me, and I think I have been gone long enough,”

Truth laughed with the force of a thousand voices,  **“Then I leave you to it, Edward Elric,” ** And then, again, all he could see was the back of his eyelids.

And it was black and silent.


	2. A Soul, Untethered

Draco tried not to wince as his fork scraped across the surface of his aunt's dishes, sending a sharp screech across the small dining room. He could see his reflection in the glass of the armoire just over Ted’s shoulder. His hair was getting long, almost shaggy, the ends of it curling just slightly. It would need to be cut if he was to be seen out in public. Of course, he didn’t have the faintest idea of when that could be.

Ted cleared his throat, “I noticed some of the books from the office had been removed-”

“I’ll put them back,” He didn’t raise his eyes, didn’t meet the man’s gaze.

“No, no, I wasn’t-” he let out a sigh, “nevermind,”

“You’re welcome to read anything you’d like dear,” his aunt said calmly, but with a pointed intention that reminded him of his mother’s own tone.

“Right, of course, what Dromeda said,” Ted agreed as he swallowed, gesturing with his fork.

Draco nodded but didn't respond. This was the little dance they did here, and Draco refused to let his guard down, to trust or get comfortable. Accepting things just created more to be taken away. 

Ted cleared his throat again as if the sharp sound would do anything to break the stilted uncomfortable silence of the “family” meal.

“I was thinking,” his aunt began, “that it would be good for you to get out-”

“-Dromeda-”

“-You look awfully pale, and I can’t imagine how you must feel cooped up in here all the time-”

“Andromeda!” his aunt stopped speaking as Ted’s voice rose dramatically, “No.”

“Ted,”

“No!” he snapped, his face falling after a moment, seemingly taken aback by his own volume, “It’s not safe. Not for him, not for us,” Ted glanced at Draco's way, guiltily, “I am sorry, I understand it’s not a good sit-”

Draco stood sharply gripping his plate tightly, he tried not to react to the screech his chair made against the floor as it slid backward. "If I may be excused, I’m feeling quite tired,” He didn't want to hear it. He knew he was a prisoner, he wished they didn't treat him as anything else.

“Are you sure?” his aunt asked, “You haven’t been eating much-” she shook her head sharply, “no, of course, you can go Draco,”

He stepped towards the kitchen, pausing for a moment next to his mother’s sister, “Thank you, for the food I mean. It was… very good,”

“Of course,” He turned the sink on as hot as it would go, watching as the water turned his skin bright red as he washed. He could just barely make out the conversation in the other room over the roar. But even where words were impossible to make out, their tone sufficed to get the mood across.

They both practically exuded stress, and while neither of them had said as much, Draco knew that he had long overstayed his welcome. He had been put here, he assumed, because Dumbledore’s Order figured that this was where he would be the most comfortable. He figured also that, in the immediate aftermath of his failure at The Astronomy Tower, little thought had been put into his placement beyond where was most likely to guarantee his cooperation.

But his aunt and her husband where not a household fit to play host for additional mouths for such an extended time. Even if Ed… remained in his current state, they both worked for a living. His aunt had received no inheritance, her marriage ensuring that, and from what little Draco had managed to overhear, he knew that it had grown more and more dangerous for her husband to go to work with each passing week. He was, quite literally, leeching off them.

The worst part was, that if he was braver, or more confident, or more sure of himself- the front door was right there. And yet, despite his proximity to freedom, he couldn’t make himself go. Instead, he'd spent his mornings by Ed’s unconscious side, his afternoons flitting around the house like a ghost, and his evening’s avoiding small talk over dinner. A braver man than him would have been long gone, but he, Draco Malfoy, was most assuredly a coward.

He shut the water off and walked back to the guest room pointedly pretending he hadn’t heard them fall silent and couldn’t feel the burn of their eyes on the back of his neck. Locking the door behind him, Draco collapsed onto his bed, the only source of light the glow of preserving magic around Ed.

\---

He wasn’t in The Gate anymore, he wasn’t sure he was really anywhere. Ed had felt the moment he’d slipped through the skin of one reality and into the next. It had been like a chair pulled out from under him, but with no ground below to impact.

The awful feeling of disorientation, his heart in his throat, breath caught in the moment of gasp, unable to force an exhale- remained long after it all should have faded away. Long after his body should have acclimated, he still hung in the black utterly unmoored. But as soon as that thought sprang to mind, he came to the understanding that he had no body, he was but a soul, unbound by any form or tie.

It was a terrifying realization that his mind had no possible way to fully comprehend. He could feel it, he was it, as it raced and struggled to equate the enormity of that idea in terms that he could comprehend. He felt like he was choking because that awful helpless feeling was the only thing his brain could conjure up to explain what was happening.

He wasn’t choking, his brain was breaking. Signals lighting up and firing into the nothingness. If… If he had a brain at all. Maybe all he was was signals, flickering and dying in the blackness between worlds, being torn to pieces by the weight of the cosmic powers.

Ed was overtaken by the violent urge to scrape and claw and scramble. At everything, at anything, the murk, himself. Nonexistent fingers grasping for nonexistent skin. He could feel himself fading away, being ground to dust now that he was stripped of The Gate’s, of Truth’s protections.

No!

The thought wrenched itself free from his mind, from his lips. Truth wanted this done, they wanted Ed to succeed. They may have offered him no help, but they wouldn’t have allowed himself to end it all so foolishly. No. There was a way out. There must have been.

The choking sensations continued, but this time Ed sunk into it. What did it matter if he choked? He had no need for air. He wasn’t falling, he told himself, only floating. Only floating.

He reached out with his consciousness, let it drift out around him, seeking, yearning for magic, for his body, for anything at all. He made himself forget, the pain, discomfort. If the universe wanted to grind him into dust, then dust he would become, drifting along the cosmic streams until he ended up right where he belonged. It was just deconstruction. Just Alchemy.

Maybe the process of reforming would scrape off a few more years of his life just like it had years ago in that northern mine. Maybe it would scrape off more than just a few years, but Ed knew or hoped he did, that no matter what, it would give him enough time to get the job done. There was no point in sending a soldier out if he was just going to die in the march.

It felt like eons before his senses found something to cling to, to anchor and drag the rest of him back together. The comfortable numbness that he’d grown used to faded as he threaded himself back into one piece.

It's just a transmutation. It’s just like Apparition.

He coiled himself around his point of contact, dust melding and fusing back together until Ed could feel everything again. Most importantly, however, he could feel his body just out of reach. Calling out to it much the same way Al described his body calling to him, Ed reached.

The moment of contact was and ugly burning thing, physical sensations overloading every part of him. His nerves lit up like he was on fire, his ears throbbing with white noise, and his eyes blinded even through the darkness of his eyelids. He gasped like a fish out of water, lungs burning through the sensation of drawing breath.

He screwed his eyes shut even further, as if the tension there could do anything to fight the pain that swarmed his mind with a vengeance. He could feel tears pooling, everything happening far too fast to process, his fists tightened reflexively around… Around, something.

Ed’s fingers clenched and unclenched around thin sheets, focusing on the sensation of cloth through the fingers of his flesh hand even as he mimicked the movement with his automail. It took ages to block out the pain, localize the sensations in a way he could remotely begin to process. Slowly but surely the control spread, up his arms to his chest, then down into his core and through his legs. The last to regain stability was his head, and even then, it took a moment before he was willing to even attempt to open his eyes.

Despite the initial burning, when Ed opened his eyes he found himself in darkness. He was lying on a bed in a small room, the walls a pale off white, almost bluish under the shards of moonlight that slipped through the curtains of the solitary window. There was another bed across from him and though it lay unoccupied, the quilted bedspread was pushed aside haphazardly, telling Ed it hadn’t been that way for long.

His body felt horribly weak, even turning his head to scan the room left him feeling rung out and exhausted. Which, as it would happen, was not a good thing at all, because Ed hadn’t the slightest idea where he was. He was too out of it to perform Alchemy, his mind not quick enough to be trusted with such precise calculations, but neither could he see his wand. He took a second, reaching out internally to see if he could sense it, but after a moment he came to the painful conclusion that his nerves were much too fried to be successful in doing anything that wasn't laying stationary.

A loud click seemed to echo through the silence and Ed froze. It occurred to him, only after the door had already begun to swing inward that perhaps he should pretend to still be unconscious.

“Ed?” a soft voice asked, tinged with all manners of overlapping emotions. Guilt, fear, wonder, concern, and disbelief, all warring among themselves for attention, “Ed is that- are you awake?”

He opened his mouth to respond but nothing came out, his throat impossibly dry, his eyelids suddenly weighted down.

Quick steps brought the figure Ed could only half see to his side, pale features taking up what line of sight remained through his slit eyelids. “Please don’t let this be a dream,” the boy said, and Ed felt the nerves in his hand ignite as something took hold.

\---

The next time Ed awoke it was to the sight of a man he didn’t know. Round face and warm eyes were not enough to keep him from jerking back violently at the sight.

“Woah! Easy there son,” the man said, climbing to his feet, hands extended out placatingly, “You’ve been asleep for a good long while now, your body isn’t ready for you to just jump back into things just yet. You'll need to let the magic do it's work for a couple more days still,”

“We-” Ed choked on the sound his throat seizing around empty air and sending him into a coughing fit.

“Okay, okay,” the man said softly. Suddenly there was something cool being pressed into his grip, with a warm hand braced around his to help hold it steady, “Easy there, slow drinks now, we don’t want you throwing up,”

The water cut through the dry riverbed of his throat, painful at first, but soothing as the coolness began to spread throughout.

“You can be thankful for magic, my boy,” the man said, easing Edward back down, “Had you been born like either my parents, you’d be in even worse shape than you already are. It let us keep your body from growing too weak while you slept, a good thing as your particular malady seemed determined to do just the opposite of that.”

Ed scrunched up his brow, something occurring to him suddenly, “How-”

“No talking now, son, just rest,” the man straightened up some, giving Ed more room to breathe, “How long were you out for?” Ed nodded, indicating that the man had gotten his question right. “Now then,” the man tilted his head back as he thought. Each second he didn’t answer sending waves of anxiety through his body, “Must be coming up on a month and a half now?”

Ed froze, tension flooding his body like he’d touched a live wire as he tried to comprehend what that meant. “When-” the man shot him a disapproving look, but Ed would not be stopped this time, “What happened? What happened to me?”

The man frowned, something dark and reproachful flashed in his eyes, “Do you remember the battle at Hogwarts?”

“Y-”

“Just nod, yes or no?”Ed nodded. Do you remember going up the Astronomy Tower?”

It was slower this time, but still, Ed felt comfortable nodding the affirmative.

“Do you remember what you went there to do?” There was a weight to the way the man asked the question, like this was the important one, like this was what Ed needed to remember.

He searched his head, sifting through the last blurry memories he could conjure up, until all he could grasp for were emotions, faint impressions of things done and said. But there was a feeling, something powerful that lingered over everything he could remember. “To protect,” Ed said, feeling confident for the first time since waking up.

The man looked… disappointed- no. That wasn’t it. There was something on his face, some emotion Ed wasn’t able to parse out with his exhausted mind, but whatever it was Ed knew he hadn't given the right answer.

“No, Edward, you went there to kill Dumbledore,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone's had a good week, I'll see you in the next one!


	3. The Third Sister

“What.” Ed’s voice didn’t sound right to his ears. Beyond just the hollow scratchy nature. It was like he’d been removed from his body by a few inches, watching everything happen just a few seconds late. “I-”

“You did,” the man said, pressing his lips together firmly, “I’m sure you’ll find time to talk about this later, but for now son, you just need to rest,”

“I- I wouldn't-”

“Rest, your friend will bring you something to eat later.

Ed went to say something, anything, to defend himself or just to call the man back, but as he opened his mouth he came to the horrible realization that what he’d said, might not have been wholly untrue. The numbness crept back over him, memories trickling back in from his subconscious, painting an ugly picture of what had gone down before he found himself in his current state.

He wasn’t- that was never the plan. He was never going to kill Dumbledore, but he was going to help him die. Draco wanted it to happen, needed it to happen, and Dumbledore… had needed it to happen too.

Things had… gotten out of hand. He could call to mind bits and pieces of the fight, rubble raining down, a limp body lying on the stone. Pain. He could remember the pain, sustained and utterly total in a way he’d never even pictured before. He remembered the world getting darker, remembered Draco crying- remembered the Death Eaters taunting. They said they’d stop, stop hurting him if Draco killed Dumbledore. And then the pain had stopped.

There was a moment were everything stilled, and Ed’s head fell silent as he tried to conjure up anything that would tell him what happened next, anything at all. But where the memory should have been, there was only silence.

No.

The man, the man who’d been there when Ed woke up, he said  _ tried _ . Said, “tried to kill Dumbledore”. So he hadn’t done it then, Draco hadn’t killed him.

First, there was relief, burning and sweeping through his body like a storm. Draco hadn’t done it. The words played on a loop inside his head. They should have soothed him, but the more times he heard them, the more dread began to creep in. because that hadn't been the plan.

As awful, and as terrible as it would have been if Draco had been forced to murder someone, Ed had no idea where anyone stood anymore. No idea how things would proceed with Dumbledore still alive.

There was also a small part of him, deep in the part of his mind that called him Slytherin that growled a little at the thought of the oversight his actions would now be subjected to.

As he arrived at this realization, Ed came back to himself enough to recognize that he was no longer alone in the room. But the presence wasn't a bad one, it was comforting in its own way.

“Are you okay?” Ed asked, his voice still weak and thready in that way he hated.

“That’s a stupid question,”

“Nah,” he sighed, “I’ve been away- no idea what you’ve been up to, anything could have happened.

Draco gave a wet laugh and Ed watched as he dropped his head, burying it in hands as he pressed his palms to his eyes. “I can’t believe you,”

“I’m serious.” Ed rolled to face the other boy, forcing eye contact, “Really, are you okay?”

“Yeah Ed, I’m fine,”

“Good. That’s good,” relief washed over him soothingly at the assurance.

“How about you?” Draco asked tentatively, almost like he was scared of the answer, “How do you feel?”

Ed cracked a smile, “Somewhere between "hit by a bus", and "having a limb severed",”

Draco glared, “God, I’d forgotten what a prick you could be.”

“Oh well then, I’ve got to make up for lost time.” Shifting his arms back awkwardly, Ed moved to leverage himself upright. Draco, catching on to what he was doing stepped in to stop him. “Knock it off,” Ed said, as he batted his friend’s hands away, “I’ve been on my back for over a month, I'll sit up if I like,”

Reluctantly Draco gave in, adjusting his grip to stabilize, “You scared me you know,”

“Ah, sorry about that,”

“No,” Draco said shaking his head, “You scared the shit out of me, I thought you were dead.”

Ed felt cold as his words sunk in, as their tone sunk in. Slowly he said, “You don’t have to worry about that Draco. Can’t die till I’m done, and I’m far from it yet.”

“Merlin,” Draco muttered, “You melodramatic- You’ve been spending too much time with Lizzy.” His words broke the invisible skin of tension that had been slowly strangling them. Both boys doubled over laughing until they were practically laying across one another. Ed was unable to hold himself upright as he laughed, and Draco exhausted with relief, subconsciously curled into him.

Ed’s face was buried in Draco’s shoulder, while the crown of the other boy’s head was planted against his chest. He wasn’t sure when it happened exactly, only that he suddenly became aware that the shaking in Draco’s shoulders had changed, the uncontrollable laughter giving way to silent sobs.

Ed wrapped his arms around Draco's narrow shoulders, pulling him forward so that he could latch on more completely. Draco’s head shifted to mirror Ed’s own, and he could feel the warmth of the other boy's tears as they soaked into the crook of his shoulder.

“I’m right here Draco, I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere,” but even as the platitude left his lips Ed felt a shot of guilt lance through his gut. Because he  _ was _ going to leave. He'd never wanted to fill the role as a back in the distance to someone who needed him. Leaving when it mattered most.

Ed held tighter.

After a time, he saw the bedroom door easied open gently over Draco's shoulder. The woman framed in the hall light took in the sight of them both, her dark eyes turning heavy and sad. “I only came to see if you had any dishes you’d like me to take,” she said softly, “but it doesn’t look like either of you have gotten around to eating yet,”

“Oh- no,” Ed said, noticing a tray with a pot of soup at the foot of Draco’s bed for the first time, “I’m sorry, I’ll bring it out when we’re done.” Ed turned his gaze to Draco, only to discover the other boy’s eyes slid shut, fallen asleep against Ed’s neck. “Oh,” Ed breathed softly.

Carefully Ed eased him down on the bed, shifting himself so that Draco was extended out fully. He twisted his hips so that his feet sat on the ground, but when he went to push upward he found his limbs utterly uncooperative.

“Do you?-” the woman gestured towards his legs.

Ed ducked his head fighting back a swell of embarrassment, “If you could?”

She moved to his side with unintentional grace, the kind born of a lifetime of practice, sliding an arm around his waist and other braced on his opposite hip as she pulled him upright. The obvious weakness in his legs fought against the sudden movement almost sending him to the ground. Ed let out a low hiss, doing his best not disturb Draco with his obvious discomfort.

Though, now that he had succeeded in getting on his feet, he hadn’t the slightest idea of where to go from there. The woman seemed to pick up on this and gently offered to take him into the living room for a spot of tea. She informed him politely that he should feel much more like himself in a few days, once the magic had been given the opportunity to repair the muscle mass he’d lost while in the coma.

The distance was relatively short, but by the time he’d been deposited in an overstuffed, purple armchair in the corner of her little sitting-room, Ed was dripping sweat. The thin blue pajamas he’d woken up in sticking uncomfortably to his skin. 

He supposed that answered the question he hadn’t even thought to ask yet about the continued secrecy of his Automail.

The woman was moving around in the little kitchen unit just out of Ed’s sight, dishes clinking as she presumably made tea for the two of them. Ed was sure she was observing him. Her movements were too perceive for Ed to think any of it was unintentional, she was too aware of her surroundings to have just left him. No, Ed was sure she was watching.

“You’re Order then, right?”

She froze. 

“I’m not- I’m not accusing you or anything. Just, he, the guy from earlier, said, “you tried to kill Dumbledore,” and he sounded upset about that. So I’m leaning towards not Death Eaters.” Ed cleared his throat as the woman was yet to resume her movements in the kitchen. “I’ve also spent a bit of time in Malfoy Manor- and from what I know about them, I can’t imagine them being contemporaries with people who look like they live in a smaller house than my muggle grandmother.” It was perhaps a bit rude, harsh even, to call to attention money. But it was effective and he thought she might appreciate this.

“And yet they would be contemporaries with you?”

“What?”

“You said the Malfoy’s, that they wouldn’t willingly interact with someone who lives in a place like this, but they would interact with you, who has a grandmother with a house not dissimilar to this? A muggle grandmother at that?”

Ed pursed his lips together tightly, not quite sure how to respond, not sure what was safe. “I know you,” he said instead, angling the conversation towards something else that had been bothering him, “Your face, I know your face.”

“I assure you, we have never met,”

“I know, but there’s something…”

There was a shuffle as the sound in the kitchen renewed. After a moment's silence, she spoke again. “I think you are well acquainted with my sisters,”

“Your sisters?”

“And my daughter,”

“I-”

“And,” she said, with all the weight and circumstance Ed needed to know this was an important one, this was the one that would matter, “My nephew,”

Oh, of course. How could he have been so stupid, “Draco,”

“Yes,”

“I-”

"Do you wish to reconsider your thoughts on my allegiance?"

"not yet"

“Were you not aware there was another sister?”

“No, I can't say I was,”

“Don’t be embarrassed, my family would be very proud of their efforts. I’m Andromeda Tonks.” She said striding back into the room with a tray of tea, “Oh, and that man from before, he’s my husband, he’s muggle-born if that is going to be an issue,”

“No!” Ed said blinking in surprise, “Of course not!”

“Of course not, he says,” she laughed, “You did just try and assassinate a man at the behest of the Death Eaters you know,”

Ed fought back a growl, he couldn’t very well say that he’d acted on Dumbledore’s orders, now could he? Any defense he had could easily undermine whatever shape or form the Headmaster's plan had evolved into now. “Look,” he said trying to get Andromeda’s attention as she poured the tea without paying him the slightest bit of attention, “If I was so bad- If I’d really been working for The Death Eater’s- why am I here then? Why hide me away again, if I was a danger? why would Dumbledore protect me?”

Andromeda raised her gaze to meet his, the warmth he’d see when she’d first entered his room all but gone, “I quite imagine it’s because Dumbledore has a soft spot for children, and you are, despite how you might like to think otherwise, a small child. He believes in second and third chances, I, however, do not. Don’t let my choice in husband fool you, Mr. Elric, I am a Black, and we are far more unforgiving.”

Ed took his cup off the platter smoothing out his expression. If this was the game she wanted to play, the attitude she wanted to present, He’d like to think he’d had some pretty good mentors over the years on this particular battlefield. “That’s funny,” he said smoothly, “because I knew your cousin, and I’m not sure he would agree,”

She hummed, seemingly unaffected, “Considering poor Regulus has been dead a good long while now, I assume you are referring to Sirius then? However, did you come to make his acquaintance?”

Okay, Ed paused to adjust for new information. Andromeda didn’t know he’d been staying with Sirius then, maybe didn’t know about his connection to The Order at all then. Had he misjudged things? Were Andromeda and her husband not- no, their daughter. Ed felt like an Idiot, Tonks, of course. He blamed it on his exhaustion that he hadn’t made the first name/last name connection immediately. “I lived with him for a few months, The Order put me up there, The Death Eaters were after me,”

She hummed, “I don’t know you well, but I doubt my nephew would be involved in Order business,”

Ed winced, he cut her, she cut back. “He’s not,”

There was a flash somewhere in her eyes, it felt like a victory. “So it’s a con then,”

“A con?” He’d misstepped, he’d let her know too much.

“Family sticks together, particularly my family. Regardless of my connection to the Order, Dumbledore wouldn’t have sent Draco here- he doesn’t trust people enough for that. But you, you work for him. Draco wouldn’t leave you, the last month or so has certainly proven that, so even if I betray them he still has an agent on the inside,”

Ed frowned, he didn’t actually know if that was the play, he didn’t know anything about what was to come. He’d been well informed of the past plan but now-”

“You are Order then?” 

Her lips twitched upward, “No,” she said, “Neither my husband nor I are members, but our Daughter is, so we occasionally have a spare bedroom to offer to those who need to disappear- a situation I imagine describes your own?”

“In a way,”

“I figured,” Andromeda tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear thoughtlessly. Like this, it was easy to see Narcissa in her. It was almost like a game in a way, she’d folded and tucked away the kind woman who’d helped him out of the room, and slid into her sister’s skin for this. Even her mannerisms were different now, a childhood of tagging behind after her older sisters gave her an easy mask, a second skin to play in.

She was testing him, toying with him. She’d told him before, she didn’t know him, this was her way of finding out what kind of person he was.

“I’m awake, now what?”

She paused long enough to finish off her tea, “Now we wait, Mr. Elric. My husband has sent a message, and Imagine Dumbledore will be here rather soon,” Andromeda moved to rise, and Ed panicked.

“Wait!”

“Yes?”

“You won’t- you won’t tell Draco about this? Right?”

She looked down at him and he watched as her eyes softened, a little bit of that second skin peeling away, “No, I won’t. But, Edward? I don’t care what Dumbledore says, find a way to tell him yourself. Before it’s too late,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this got posted so late at night, I had it all edited and ready to go... only for my computer to spaz out and force me to re-edit. Feel free to let me know if I missed anything on that second go around.


	4. The Plan

Draco blinked up at him with the drunk sort of confusion that could only come from a severe lack of rest. “Go back to sleep,” Ed muttered as Andromeda relaxed her hold on him so that he could recline next to the other boy.

“Oh,” Draco blinked and shifted suddenly, “I’ll go-”

Ed shoved him back down, “go the fuck to sleep Draco,” He could hear the door latch as Andromeda left over the quiet creak of the bed as he shifted around. With a slight wince, Ed extended himself out fully, every part of his body protesting the movement. “Besides, if you leave I have to change position,” he said, the sound of his voice muffled by the pillow he'd buried his face in.

“Are- are you sure?” Draco sounded slightly more awake now as if the stress of their interaction had forcibly dragged him back to consciousness.

“Fuck off,” Ed grumbled. The other boy didn’t respond, but he could feel the uncomfortable stiffness in Draco's body even inches away. He gave a low sigh as he flopped onto his side, turning away to give the boy a little more privacy. Ed was starting to regret his decision, he should have just told Andromeda to drop him on the other bed. He'd forgotten that Draco was asleep in his, and by the time he'd remembered his body had decided for him that moving across the room wasn't exactly in the picture. 

Growing up, he and Al and Winry had frequently slept together in a tangle of arms and legs, it hadn’t occurred to him that Draco would be uncomfortable with it. It hadn't been his first choice but he hadn't been expecting it to be a problem... Fuck, and now he was stuck unable to maneuver himself on his own-

“Night, Ed,” the words were hesitant, but not as uncomfortable as Ed would have expected.

“Yeah- night, Draco,” It took a little, but Ed could feel Draco’s breaths even out slowly as the other boy sunk back into the realm of unconsciousness. Ed let out a breath of relief, glad that he hadn’t ruined… something. It had been a long time since he’d had the warmth of another person at his back and he had to fight the urge to roll into the comforting heat. Instead, Ed pushed away, rolling until he was balanced on the end of the mattress, a knife’s edge away from falling to the ground, where he would be the least likely to disturb Draco.

\---

Ed wasn’t surprised by Dumbledore’s presence in the living room the next morning, but even still he couldn’t help but tense in anticipation of what was to come. He seemed even odder than usual in the face of the Tonks’s small family room, his long robes and wild white hair standing in stark opposition to the faded pastels.

“Edward,” he said by way of greeting, one hand gripping a teacup, the other, the blackened one draped across his lap looking wholly dead. Yet despite its deadness, the headmaster seemed unbothered.

“Sir,” Ed acknowledged, glancing briefly over his shoulder at the bedroom he shared with Draco, warry of the other boy waking now.

Dumbledore chuckled as he watched. “You needn't concern yourself with that, I’ve assured Mr. Malfoy will be making up for some of the rest he’s sorely needed. We may speak freely,”

Ed took a couple of staggering steps forward, bracing himself on the wall. There was no way he should be walking now, not under any normal circumstance, but magic in the hands of skilled healers continued its trend of brushing off injuries that should have been by all right debilitating.

“What’s the plan?” Ed asked, sinking into the seat across from the elderly man, “How do I figure into all of this?”

Dumbledore seemed amused, his tone just on this side of mocking, “You are willing to play puppet to my machinations then?”

“No,” Ed scowled, “But I know you well enough by now to know that I’ll be a part of this if I plan to or not. Frankly, I’d rather know my part before it becomes intertangled. I figure you have something for me to do, you wouldn’t have saved me otherwise,”

Dumbledore’s face flashed something unreadable, settling after a moment back on dry amusement, “Oh my dear boy, It was not I who saved you,”

“What? What are you-”

“It was not me, Edward. You and you alone can be credited with your survival.”

“I don’t?-”

Dumbledore smiled softly in that way Ed had grown to hate as he brought his tea up to his mouth, “I suppose a certain school of thinkers would credit something of an outside actor as well, but I personally believe that the wand is only as strong as the wizard that wields it.”

“My- are you saying my wand saved me?”

The headmaster set his cup down and drew from within a hidden pocket in his robes the fractured remains of his poor wand. Ed took it from him gently, as if accepting an injured bird. There was something of a resemblance between the two, the twisted wood clinging to each other from a single bluish-grey feather.

“Thunderbird wands are particularly interesting creations, terribly powerful and wonderfully loyal to those who’ve earned it,”

“Jack-” Ed stumbled over his words, “There was a shopkeeper in Hogsmeade, Jack something-or-other, he said that Thunderbird wand has been known to perform magic on their own…”

Dumbledore hummed, “A well-read young man it seems, and he is correct. Thunderbird wands, even more so than others, bond deeply with their masters and have been known to come to their defense,” he nodded, “even at the cost of themselves,”

Ed’s grip tightened slightly around the fragments. He hadn’t been particularly attached, truthfully, Ed had viewed his wand as little more than a tool, a means to an end. But there was something deeply upsetting about thinking about it giving its… life, he supposed, for him. That somewhere along the line he'd endeared himself enough for that.

“Can- could it be repaired?”

“Not likely I’m afraid, the amount of magic channeled through it simply fired the poor thing. Repairing it on an external level would not undo the deeper magical damage. In your state, the amount of magic your wand channeled through you, and the unique way your body process magic due to your Alchemy… that is what we think was responsible for your condition, the persistent unconsciousness.

"The Coma," Ed nodded, and slid the remains into his pocket, its familiar thrum almost undetectable. He paused for a moment, the anticipation building in his gut. “I suppose, in a way, that brings me to something else we need to discuss,”

“By all means,”

He hesitated, maybe just a moment too long, brain tangled up in all the ways Dumbledore could react, allowing enough time to pass that suspicion began to register on the man’s face. Finally, deciding there was no good way to go about saying it, Ed spoke, “I need your wand,”

Surprise, then a cold wariness overtook the headmaster's face, “And why would that be?”

Ed leaned forward, determination egging him on even where caution buzzed nervously in his ears, “Because it’s the Elder Wand, which you won when you defeated Grindelwald, which he stole from Gregoravitch before that, and which is now an essential part of me getting to see my own world again.”

The tension was suffocating but Ed did his best not to react, meeting Dumbledore’s eyes unblinkingly as the old man asked, “How long have you known?”

“Not as long as I should have, kept getting distracted by other things, didn’t figure it out until long after I had all the information to do so,”

“Does anyone else know?”

“No, and I’ll even give you the smoking gun, once I have what I'm after. I’ll destroy it if you’d prefer.”

Ed didn’t think he’d ever seen Dumbledore’s eyes so cold, the careful cheer they kept burning at all times had vanished into the depths of icy blue. “And how exactly does this get you home?”

“I worked it out with a little help from Flamel, It takes a lot of energy to do what I need, but even when I have that power source, I still need something to conduct it.”

“And the Elder Wand is that conductor?”

“Yes, I’m sure of it,”

“And that’s it? That all you need to get home?” Ed didn’t like how those words sounded coming from the Headmaster, they were too calculating.

“No,” he said slowly, “I have to retrieve the array that brought me here from the Death Eaters and locate a source of power,”

This seemed to be the right thing to say, he could see the almost infinitesimal way that Dumbledore’s shoulders relaxed. He was relieved, Ed, realized. If the wand had been the last thing Ed needed, the only thing currently stopping him from going home… 

Dumbledore still needed him, still wanted him on the board. Ed wasn’t convinced- no, he was almost positive Dumbledore wouldn’t have allowed him anywhere near the Elder Wand if it had been the last thing he needed. But now…

“There is another who seeks the wand,”

“From what I gather there are many, but I have a feeling you’re talking about someone specific here,”

“Tom Riddle, more commonly known these days as Lord Voldemort,”

Ed let out a low hiss through clenched teeth, it wasn’t ideal, but it was still workable. He just needed ownership of the wand, he didn’t need to carry it around with him at all times. His vault in Gringotts would do to stash it if need be. “It’s not like he isn’t already after me,”

Dumbledore hummed, “More than you know I’m afraid,”

“What?”

“Your disappearance after the incident on the Astronomy Tower was regrettable but necessary, however, it has somewhat compromised your position with Voldemort. He does not trust you.”

“Of course, because that would be too easy,” Ed ran his hand through his hair weakly, “And Snape? Is he still in position?”

“For now, though he too is on the unsteady ground seeing as I am still alive,”

Oh, of course, Ed had forgotten. “How long does he have? Until the Unbreakable Vow kills him,”

“We assume until the next term starts... or I die,”

“And how long till you die? Don’t think I haven’t noticed the curse spreading,”

“No more than three weeks until it reaches my heart,”

Ed nodded, shaking his head a bit as he did. Goddamn it, that did complicate things. They had to act fast, Snape had to kill Dumbledore before he died or the other man would be gone too, and The Order would be down their inside man.

He bit his lip, chewing softly as he thought, trying to work his way to the next best possible move. What would Mustang do? How would he proceed? “And the Malfoy’s, are they still alive?”

“For now, though your acquaintance with them is more likely to hurt than help at the moment,”

“It’s not me I was asking for,”

“Ah,” Dumbledore said, “I see,”

Ed let out an irritated tisk, this wasn’t ideal. “So Snape kills you, but before he does, I disarm you, I get the wand,” he hesitated, “I get the wand, stash it, Snape takes me prisoner, brings me to the Death Eaters. From there, I… escape? Earn their trust back? Use the opportunity to retrieve the array. They won’t know I’m targeting it, so I can’t imagine it’ll be the most pressing thing on their mind to protect-”

“And then what?”

Ed threw his hands up, “I don’t know, I’ll fucking improvise. Why don’t you tell me what to do, you have such a grand plan and all-” Ed stopped sharply and closed his eyes, “except you didn’t save me, my wand did. You didn’t account for this, you don’t know what to do with me, do you?”

“My original intention was for you to take on a similar, though less embedded role, as Severus. Actively passing information back to The Order. I assumed it wouldn’t be particularly objectionable as it seems you’ve grown quite fond of young Mr. Malfoy, it would have allowed you to look out for him in the coming conflict. But as you said, this was not a situation I was prepared for. I never intended to survive the night.”

“Well that’s just- fuck,” Ed scrubbed at his eyes and stress racked his frame.

“May I ask, what of Mr. Malfoy now?”

“What do you mean? What about Draco?”

“I noticed he wasn’t included in your plan, what do you intend for him to do now?”

Ed furrowed his brow in confusion, “He’ll stay here, with his aunt, where it’s safe. They’ll fucking kill him if he leaves- Hell, I’m not sure The Order would be much friendlier!”

“And he would be alright with you risking your own life?”

“Be alright- he doesn’t get a say in that. He stays here because it's safe, I go because it’s what needs to be done.”

“I see,”

“For Truth’s sake,” Ed grumbled, “Are we done?”

“I suppose we are,” Dumbledore said. He met Ed’s eyes, something unreadable on his face, “I really hope this works out for you Edward, I really do,”

“Sure,” He said with a curtness that did little to hide his discomfort, “Send me an owl so I can know the day it all goes down. As postponed as possible If you would, I’m still getting my strength back. If worst comes, I’d like to be able to go down defending myself at least. Be better than death by tripping because my fucking legs still don't work.”

Dumbledore sighed behind him but Ed didn’t look back. He worried that looking back would make it all real. He hated this, all of this. He wanted to be done, he wanted to be home, he needed to be home. He didn’t have another year to waste playing with magic and getting mixed up in wizard wars, he had to stop Father, had to get Al his body back. 

This world had been just fine before him, it would be just fine again when he was gone. Not even Dumbledore had a part for him to play anymore, his actions from now on would be his own, he swore it. Any part he had in anything would only be a means to an end, Dumbledore would be dead soon, and Ed refused to play his pawn for any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to happen now, and the calm before the storm doesn't have much life left in her


	5. The Burning Letter

There was something wrong with Ed, Draco was sure of it. He was tense and sullen, which while admittedly not unusual in it of itself, when taken in addition to the looks the other boy had been shooting his way, made Draco uneasy. It wasn’t quite guilt, or if it was, it was guilt and something else.

It was unsettling. Draco didn’t know where he stood anymore. He’d thought- stupidly it seemed- that Ed was the only person in the world who he knew what to expect from. Darkly he reflected that it was idiotic to have assumed that nearly getting his friends killed wouldn’t change things. Who was he to have thought that Ed waking up would be some magical cure-all?

Sure, Ed was still kind- Ed was kind. It was a fact of his personality that had never dimmed or faded in the time Draco had known him. He was kind enough that Draco could almost ignore the birth of tension between the two of them. He’d-

Draco ran his fingers through his hair shakily at the memory of waking up that morning, only to find the other boy missing. He’d been disoriented at first, waking up on the wrong side of the room, to the wrong patterns of daylight, too close to the wall- and then everything had come back.

He’d torn off the sheets, stumbling to his feet, overtaken by the irrational fear that Ed was gone- disappeared in the night. That the previous night had been one final act of goodwill before he departed forever. And after everything? Everything that Draco’s machinations had caused? He wouldn’t have blamed Ed a bit, even if he thought it would have killed a part of him.

Of course, Ed had pushed his way into the room only seconds later grumbling under his breath about meddlesome old men- not that any of that registered to Draco who’d frozen, covers still tangled around his legs like a snare from the speed in which he'd shot upright. Ed had blinked at him dumbly, one of his hands pressed to the doorframe the other curled around his ribs.

“Uh, hello?”Draco had staggered forward, “are you okay?”

“Hey, yeah, I’m fine. What’s wrong?” Ed looked at him with such concern that his ribs ached.

“Nothing,” Draco had jerked away from Ed’s outstretched arm, “nothing, it’s fine- just, just weren’t sure where you went,”

“Are you sure, you-”

“I’m fine Elric,”

Ed'd looked startled, but Draco didn’t linger, just pushed past him into the hall. He hadn’t had a purpose, a reason for leaving, nothing beyond a deep-seated need to flee. It had felt like ants were pouring under his skin in waves of nervous pain. He couldn’t be there, couldn’t stand next to Ed and his kind eyes, not when he knew the other boy resented him silently, knew that eventually, he would leave to.

He was still out there at the present, not having made it much past the painting of some generic farm landscape outside their room. The force that had driven him to flee, had died almost immediately, just leaving him exhausted. He let out a long breath, reaching up to scrub at his eyes roughly as if he could will the universe back to order.

“Draco?” Andromeda peered down the hallway, “are you alright?”

“Fine,” he snapped, not intending for his tone to be so harsh, “I- can I go outside? I just need some air,”

She nodded motioning for him to follow, “you don’t seem as pleased to have your friend awake as I would have expected,”

“What? No, of course, I’m happy Ed’s awake, I just- I’m just stressed, that’s all,”

She nodded, but Draco didn’t think she believed him. “Stay close to the house, Dumbledore says the Death Eater’s have infiltrated most of the Ministry now, it’ll be far easier for them to monitor the movements of witches and wizards. There are privacy spells on the house, but they don't extend very far out.”

The air was thick and humid, the sun had fully risen over the neatly manicured tree line. The little backyard space was carefully maintained but undeveloped, a far cry from the sprawling gardens of Malfoy Manor. He wondered why she gave it all up. The security of wealth and social status, the knowledge that even on the worst days she would want for nothing. He thought about his friends, Zabini’s easy acceptance of the world, Lizzy’s pointed hatred of it all, Pansy’s… something.

“Where you engaged?” the words slipped from his lips without permission.

His aunt blinked at him in surprise, “I- I beg your pardon?”

“I’m sorry,” Draco said shaking his head, “ignore me, that was a stupid question,”

“It’s not the question I minded- what did you? Oh! Before Ted you mean?”

Ted, it was so… boring, average. It was almost perversely humorous to hear in his aunt's careful precise way of speaking. Though Draco couldn't lie and say he didn’t hear the way her words brightened at her husband's mention.

“I guess, that’s- I was thinking about one of my friends at school. She’s- we, we were supposed to be engaged. Though, I honestly doubt that’s still on the table now.”

“Did you like her?”

Draco blinked, “what?”

“Did you like her? I understand you were meant to marry her, but did you like her, genuinely?”

“Yeah, I mean- she’s my friend. Was, my friend. I’m not sure how that’s looking right now all things considered.” he cleared his throat harshly, hating how shaky his words had gotten. “It was a good match,”

“Well, friendship is good, but I meant more along the lines of, did you love her? Could you see yourself happy with her for the rest of your life? Would she be happy with you?”

“I-” his first instinct was to say yes, they’d known each other since they were children, were already practically family, but then, but then he pictured Lizzy. He pictured the way Pansy looked at her and knew in his gut that had they been married they never would have been able to erase the scent of obligation that would linger. He would always have been holding her back from something she wanted. So instead, he replied, “No, but at least we knew each other. I don’t think she’s going to get that option now,”

Andromeda nodded, raising a hand slowly to brush away a loose lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes. “I think that if I was in her place, I would have married you,” she said softly, “but in my family, by the time they got to the third daughter, all the family friends were taken. It was easy for me to walk away from a stranger.”

“So you were then,” it was a statement, not a question.

“Yes,”

Draco laughed, it was an ugly thing, spilling from his throat in a choaked manner better suited for dark regretful hours then the bright sun they stood under. “What must you think of me,” he said, words shaking too as they followed. “When they told me my job, I never even thought of saying no,”

“Draco,” she said softly turning him to face her, “You can’t judge yourself based on my decision. I had nothing too loose, you had everything,”

“What are you talking about? You lost everything,”

“What? A fancy house, an inheritance?” her smile was soft and far far too kind, “I didn’t care about that. The hardest part was leaving the people I loved, and it became significantly easier once I realized they were already lost.”

“Do you think I’m lost?” his voice was weak and he almost couldn't bear to hear her answer.

“Oh sweetheart, I think you may have been lost for a very long time, but I have faith you can still find your way back, like me, to something better. The difference between us and them, our family, is that they like it that way, being lost in the dark,”

“I can’t hate them,” Andromeda smiled, “I've never been able to manage it either.”

\---

Ed returned from breakfast a few days later to find an envelope sitting on his pillow as if it had always been there. It was thick sturdy paper, the feel of it familiar enough to give him a clue as to who it was from even if he hadn’t recognized the hand that had scrawled his name across the front. The swoop in the L of his last name so distinctive as to bring ire directly to the forefront of his mind.

_ Dear Mr. Elric, For your convenience, I have enclosed information I imagine you will find quite valuable. I do not wish for you to think of our partnership as something in the past, currently, and when I am gone, I hope to be able to rely on you to act continually in the same spirit of your own accord. _

Ed rolled his eyes, grumbling more than a few unpleasant things about the character of certain old wizards who should have kicked the bucket ages ago.

_ Firstly, pertaining to Mr. Malfoy, for his own sake you should see that he does not attempt to return home. Tom and his Death Eater’s have made Malfoy manor their new base of operations according to recent reports. There has been no indication that the Malfoy’s have been killed as of now, I worry that their survival is an attempt to draw you both out- as you, in particular, are a known associate. _

Ed worried his lip between his teeth, Draco deserved to know. But telling him meant telling him how he knew, and he found suddenly that there was very little he dreaded at that moment more. Things had been oddly tense since he’d awoken and he wasn’t sure what he would do if the fragile peace between them broke in entirety. Even if there was a small, cruel, voice that whispered that it was better to cut it off now then drag out the inevitable, he still clung to his one friendship still within his grasp. He would leave him in the end, he had to, but even still he didn’t want to.

_ Secondly, you are not trusted among the Death Eaters. They will likely not attempt to kill you on sight, but capture is most definite. It should be noted, the longer you go unseen, the further Tom’s trust in you will fall. Do with that what you will. _

All it meant was that he had to go about these things carefully, keeping his head down for too long increases the consequences, but moving without all the information could end up being just as deadly in the long run.

He longed for eyes in ears outside the house. Even now, as Dumbledore volunteered information back to him, Ed did not doubt that there was a purpose and a motive behind each line. With no other sources of information, he was forced to depend on Dumbledore, trust Dumbledore, something he was hardly comfortable with even when they were working together explicitly.

_ Thirdly, Harry. I have tasked him with the destruction of the fragments of Voldemort’s soul that would bind him to this world even after the physical death of his body. Be warned, if he learns that his power weakens, he will likely renew interest in other methods of Immortality. If you do possess such secrets, hide them well. _

_ Fourthly, in the weeks before your arrival in this world, there was an explosion in the home of a man named Aberama Loe. While never explicitly linked to any of Voldemort’s forces, old Aberama was from a family of some failing renown, it is possible he may have lent his home to the Death Eaters in hope of regaining past glories. I bring this to you, because many years back now, Aberama attempted to sell several of his belongings to various fellow collectors, one of which was an ancient rune to summon a monster of gold. He was unable to prove it worked in any capacity and no one would buy it, however, I know for a fact that there was an interested party. _

_ At the time, Tom Riddle worked for Borgin and Burkes down in Knockturn alley as an assistant, and would frequently attend auctions looking for things to purchase on the store's behest. A friend of mine present at that particular auction informed me that Tom was quite incensed that neither Borgin or Burke would take his advice and bid on it. _

_ Aberama survived the explosion that destroyed his house in the weeks before you arrived, and is currently laid up in St. Mungos. I do hope that gives you a reasonable place to start. _

_ Yours Sincerely, _

_ Albus Dumbledore _

_ P.S. For the good of all, I don’t think I need to tell you to burn this letter. _

That was his array, he was sure of it. More importantly, he was sure Dumbledore was sure of it. Which begged the question- how long had he known? He hadn’t mentioned it the other day at the house, hadn’t given a hint of knowledge away when Ed had told him he was looking for it… what on earth was the man playing at?

Stashing the letter under his pillow for a moment, Ed wandered into the living room to retrieve a box of matches. Unlike many of the wizarding homes he’d been in before, the Tonks' home was scarcely different from the home of someone back in Amestris- luck for him, wandless, and unwilling to experiment with flame Alchemy in such a small space.

Transmuting some stones from the garden into a small bowl, Ed returned to his room and retrieved the letter from its hiding spot. He took a match to it, watching as the flames consumed and wrapped the thick parchment paper, ash drifting down onto the stone. The orange burned with an unusual ferocity the flames slowly growing and taking on an unnatural state until flickering before his eyes, suspended in the air, were the words:

ONE WEEKS TIME

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'm currently stuck in the middle of a blizzard so hopefully, this doesn't have any troubles posting.)  
That being said, hopefully, everyone survived the holidays with their relatives, and is prepared for round two in about month now (I can't believe there are only 30 days left in this fucking year). If you aren't, feel free to fake some mono.  
Cheers,  
see you all in two weeks  
(If finials don't kill me first)


	6. Dawn at St. Andrews

One Weeks Time. It really could only mean one thing. Dumbledore was dying, properly dying, and if he didn’t take matters into his own hands, things would truly unravel more than they already had. The flaming words burnt themself to ashes, blowing away on a nonexistent breeze until nothing remained. No evidence of the message that had just been delivered in such damning fashion.

“Fuck,” he exhaled, closing his eyes against the sudden force of what he was pretty sure was an approaching karmic migraine. “Okay, then, first things first,” he muttered making his way to the living room. Draco was in one of the armchairs, all illusion of dignity diminished by the way he sat, knees at his chest, curled around one of Ted’s mystery novels. It seemed time and boredom had finally worn the Malfoy heir down to the lowliness of muggle pastimes.

The boy shot him a look as Ed entered the room, probably wondering what Ed was doing, repeatedly entering and exiting their shared room like a forgetful toddler. He waved the other boy off and made his way into the kitchen were Andromeda stood slicing vegetables for dinner. Considering they’d only just finished breakfast, this was not as wholly surprising as it should have been. Andromeda had proven to be quite the stress cook. Ted was insistent on continuing to go to work each day despite daily reports of missing witches and wizards and his own wife's protests. Ed couldn’t help but feel bad about it, he knew his and Draco’s presence couldn’t be helping the couple's financial situation, and he made a silent promise that the next time he went to Gringotts he would deposit some of Hohenheim's considerable funds into their vault.

“Edward,” she said politely without actually looking up from the quick, careful, knife strokes she made, “did those matches work out for you?”

“They did,”

“And?”

“One week,”

Andromeda hummed, “And my nephew?”

Ed winced, “he can’t come, it isn’t safe.”

She scoffed, “nowhere is safe,”

“Going with me would be worse,”

She paused in her cutting, turning to look him up and down, “Should I bother to ask what it is you’re up to?”

“No, probably best not,”

“Probably best not,” she muttered, “of course. And what would you have me tell Draco? Don’t worry darling he’s only gone off somewhere worse. Oh, what’s that? No, I’m sorry I can’t actually tell you what he’s doing either, only that your risk of torture would be worse going with him than staying here. Chin up, I’m sure it’s all fine.”

“That’s not-” Ed winced, “I don’t want him getting hurt, it's important.”

Andromeda sighed, “of course it is, but you need to recognize the very real possibility that this house is not the safe haven that you seem to think it is. Yes, the Death Eaters don’t realize either of you is here, but they know I am. We have to assume they know where I live, where my husband lives, we have to assume that when the Dark Lord sends his people out to ravage the world, that we will likely grace the list of the dead with our presence. It’s not a pleasant future, but we would be fools to ignore it.”

“There are ways of hiding, magical ways of disappearing,”

“Yes, and in turn, there are magical ways of being found. If we disappear now, we signal to the entire world that we might have something to hide. I have no desire to see friends tortured into insanity and forced to give up my secrets. If my sisters and their friends return after all these years to kill me, I will not give them the satisfaction of cowering in fear of their actions. I will die as I lived.”

“Yes, but what about Draco? About Ted? Don’t they have a right to want to live?” Her expression wavered, a little slip, that more than anything told Ed that her coldness was not quite as polished as Narcissa’s.

“Ted’s going to leave,”

“What?”

“He thinks I don’t know, but any day now, he’s going to head to work and not come back- he’s trying to protect me, thinks that by leaving he’s delaying the inevitable. Voldemort hasn’t succeeded in taking full power yet, but if the anti-muggleborn sentiments and legislation floating around are any indications of what’s to come… He thinks going into hiding is the solution, but the fact that he hasn’t tried to convince me to come along tells us that he doesn’t think it’s going to work either. We are known entities, our ability to move against outside forces is restricted by the simple fact that we have been around too long and they know what to expect of us. Because the other side possesses an easier acceptance of killing and brutality, possesses the ability to scare and frighten people into inactivity, possesses the ability to draw out the very worst in humanity- they have the stronger force. This war will not be won by numbers and known entities, if it is won at all, it will be won by people like you, like Harry Potter, like Draco. As long as you do not conform to their view of you as children playing at war, but actually become warriors, they won’t know how to respond to the threat of you.

I will stay here, and when they come to kill me, I will kill as many of them as I am capable of. Maybe if Dumbledore were around to command his army this war could be fought traditionally. But I am not a soldier, and those who are, are old, and without Dumbledore to direct them they will be scattered and inefficient at best.”

It was a lot to take in, but one of her statements more than anything made his eyes narrow, “What do you mean if ‘Dumbledore were around’? You saw him the other day,”

Andromeda hummed, “Yes I did see him, and I’ve been around long enough to recognize a man mentally composing his own will. And judging by the look on your face, you knew as well. One week, right?”

Ed stood there, at a loss for words as she turned back to her preparations. If he had not been staring so intently, he doubted he’d have noticed the slight shake in her hands.

“I still can’t take Draco with me,”

Her hand stilled for a moment, before resuming at an even pace, “Very well, I’ll do my best to hide him. But I’d advise you to finish what you plan to do quickly,”

“As quickly as I can,”

\---

Ed watched Draco sleep as he drew the black cloak up and over his head, the thick wool having been transmuted to hide the Slytherin crest that had once adorned it. He thought about just leaving, walking out the door and not looking back, but found that he couldn’t force himself to do it.

Turning to their shared dresser, he left a note. It didn’t explain everything, it couldn’t, but Ed hoped it was better than nothing. Steeling himself, he moved away. He could just see the first few lines from under the book he’d used to weigh it down.

_Draco,_ _Firstly, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to leave you like this, but It had to be done. I’m not really sure what’s going to happen next, but I needed to go. It’s a long story, too long a story to be told in writing, but I was too much of a coward to tell you in person._

_ My name really is Edward Elric, but I haven’t been fully truthful in most other things. Namely, and probably most importantly, I’m not from St. Andrew’s, I'm really not. _

That done, Ed hoisted his trunk up and walked out, leaving his side as if no one had ever been there at all.

Dumbledore was waiting for him in the living room. Andromeda wasn’t there, but Ted was. He looked old in the dim light of the room, old but determined. For a moment he ignored the old headmaster and strode up to the man who had been his host. Ed reached over and gripped his arm, his automail tightening vice-like around the man’s wrist.

Ted looked startled, pulling back sharply, “What-”

“When you run,” Ed half-whispered, “When you run, take Draco with you- get him away from here,”

Ted seemed confused at first but slowly he nodded and Ed released him from his grasp and moved to join Dumbledore at the door. The headmaster seemed unphased by the interaction, only offering Ed his arm as he moved up alongside him.

The second Ed made contact with him he felt the familiar pull of apparition in his gut, and the room around him vanished into nothing.

The impact with solid ground was just as jarring as Ed remembered, but in addition to the usual nausea, his vision spotted violently, leaving him almost hanging off Dumbledore in an effort to keep on his feet.

“It seems you are not quite recovered,” Dumbledore said softly.

Ed pulled away sharply, his balance not fully recovered. “I’m fine,”

“Still short-tempered as always, Elric,”

Ed narrowed his eyes as he straightened up, “Severus,” the man stood several feet away, a picture of stiff composure.

“The both of you would do well to remember that you are partners in this, not adversaries,” Dumbledore said. He was frailer, Ed realized. Even in the short time since he’d seen the man, he’d lost weight and his voice had lost much of its grandeur. He really was dying.

It didn’t seem quite real to Ed, he’d been dying for a long time and Ed had known about it for a long time and yet- Dumbledore had remained, not infallible, but immovable. He was a rock in the middle of the road, not necessarily good, at times frustrating or painful to knock against, but it wasn’t like it was going anywhere. Dumbledore, for all the planning that had gone into this, shouldn’t have been going anywhere. But he was now.

They were standing in a field, and for a moment Ed didn’t recognize it. But as the sun began to break over the edge of the earth, he could see his father’s house perched not far away. “Why St. Andrew’s?”

“I needed a justification on how I caught you,” Severus said as he rolled up his long black sleeves, wand already in hand.

“Officially,” Dumbledore began, “Severus was tracking my movements when he witnessed the two of us meeting, he captured you, killed me, and went back for you later, at which point he will bring you to the Death Eaters,”

“No pretending to be friends then?”

“I wouldn’t discount the possibility in its entirety,” Dumbledore said, “As far as they know, you were never under the Order’s protection. If you wish, you could claim that my presence here was in an attempt to recruit you- which you denied,”

“Still doesn’t explain how I got away after the tower,”

“The best lies deal in truth,” Severus spoke up, “Say the Order did take you, but you were unconscious. After you awoke, you left. Don’t give any more details than necessary, because they will not believe you, and the more details you give, just gives you a greater chance of slipping up,”

Ed closed his eyes as a thought occurred to him, “Veritaserum, I won’t be able to lie through it.”

Severus smiled, his thin mouth jutting up sharply. “No, I doubt you would be able to. However, it is just your luck that I am the potions master is it not? The Dark Lord’s stash has been rather run through recently, and for the potion to be brewed correctly, I need at least a month. The last drops were used only a few nights ago… coincidentally.”

“Tom may take pleasure in violence,” Albus said, “but he understands the value of correct information and the limitations of torture. He may attempt to read your mind via Legitimancy, but I believe you have some experience with that?”

Ed nodded, trying to ease his heart rate back down to a more acceptable rate. “If I’m going to be left with the Death Eater’s I’ll need to stop by Gringotts. The wand will need depositing, as well as sensitive materials I inherited from Flamel. Seeing as you seem intent on making sure everyone knows where I live I can’t exactly leave them anything to find.”

“Very well,” Severus said, his words carrying a tinge of impatience that stirred and ugly feeling in his gut. They were, after all, here to kill a man.

For all the things Ed had done, it was the one thing that he had done his best to avoid. He did not believe in sacrificing the lives of others needlessly, but he was also a realist. When he’d joined the military, he’d known that it was a possibility- the Ishvalian civil war was only a few years in the past, he knew what being a State Alchemist meant. But still, he persisted. This wasn’t the way he imagined he’d be given his introductory, but he promised himself he wouldn’t look away.

Dumbledore smiled at him as if he wasn’t about to become an accessory in his own murder and said, “You have a good heart Edward, I’m sure I can count on you,” Then Dumbledore nodded and Severus passed Ed his wand to raise.

The stick felt hollow in his grip, lacking in the life Ed was used to. Reaching deep, he pulled the magical thrum to the surface, fanning the spark into a flame. And when it had reached its peak he met Dumbledore’s eyes, “Expelliarmus,”

The Elder Wand flew from the old man's grip and landed in the grass a few feet behind him and Ed passed the wand back to Severus like he’d been burned. Ed’s eyes scanned the face of the old headmaster, but he looked only to Severus. “Be done with it,” he said.

And without hesitation, Severus was, and Dumbledore fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a little late, I was flying all of yesterday and I've only just now had the opportunity to post this.


	7. Epitaph

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title, while fitting the themes, can definitely be owed to Epitaph by King Crimson- which played on a loop through much of the writing process. SO, if you're the kind of person who likes to play music while you read, that song has my highest recommendation.

There was stillness after death as the universe held its breath, waiting between one moment and the next, for the soul to leave the body behind. There was no dignity in how Dumbledore fell. He crumpled into the grass like a discarded toy, insignificant, having served his purpose. Ed wasn’t sure how he was meant to feel at that moment. There had been so much emotional build-up, pushing toward this moment, this instance in time, and now there was just… It was done and gone and Dumbledore was dead.

He wasn’t… sad. That wasn’t the right word for what he felt. He just- was. He wondered if it was shock or something else entirely. He’d been sad, in the past when people had died. His mother and Hughes, Nina, the Flamels, Elia and her family- he’d been sad. But there had also been this too. This hollowness buried deep in his chest that screamed that this was the inevitability of life.

He was angry. Ed realized suddenly, that’s what he was feeling, burning hatred that raged aimlessness. Well, he decided bitterly, it would be aimless no longer, he knew exactly where to direct it.

Ed strode forward even as Severus remained pointedly away, and plucked the Elder Wand from the grass, feeling the powerful thrum of energy rush through his fingers. He could almost feel the dying screams of his contemporaries in the wood, and he knew that the world would have been all the better if such a thing had never been created.

Reaching into his robes, Ed withdrew the fragments of his wand, and rebound them together with the Deathstick. Silently, almost praying that his deception would work, Edward lay his own wand in the hand of the fallen headmaster.

One final job for you

Ed straightened, clearing his throat as he turned definitely from the body. “What now?”

“Run to your home,” Severus said after a moment, “I’ll deal with him. Meet me at the Cathedral when you have what you need. We must be brief, the news of this with reach others soon.”

Ed nodded and moved towards town, solidifying his wrath and motivation as he went, twisting it around his body like a metal brace. Ed felt like a ghost out of time as he stepped into the picturesque streets, the town unchanged by what had happened just outside its borders, and within Edward himself.

His father’s house stood just as imposing and solid as it had on the day Ed had first arrived with Bones, but as he stepped inside the building was dead, every surface covered in a thick layer of dust. It floated through the air, illuminated by Dumbledore’s wand. In Ed’s absence, the old house had fallen into a state of neglect more than in all the years of Hohenheim's disappearance. But if there was one thing to take comfort in, it was that the grime told him clearly that no one had been there since Ed had departed over a year ago.

He briefly stopped into his bedroom to retrieve some money he’d stashed, even if he would end up having no real need for it, he could think of better applications for it than collecting dust far from the eyes of others. Backing out, Ed made his way towards his study. The stairs creaked sharply under his feet, leaving him feeling like an intruder in his home.

** _ “And who is that I hear scurrying around out there? A rat perhaps? Come out, come out little rat!” _ **

Ed drew a breath, the Xerxian syllables felt disjointed and foreign as they rolled off his tongue,  _ “It’s only me,”  _ he winced. His words sounded unpracticed and heavily accented, nothing like the precision he'd spoken with when in constant conversation with his father's painting.

** _ “Edward Elric! Still here are we?” _ **

Ed pushed the door open, bringing him face to face with the painting.  _ “Hello, Dwarf,” _ the painting swirled and Ed found himself staring into a wide white eye,  _ “how are you?” _

** _ “I am a painting young Alchemist, my feelings are inconsequential- and one could argue not even real to begin with,” _ **

_ “I’m sorry to have left you for so long,” _

** _ “I am very old Edward, this was no time at all,” _ ** If it was possible, the Dwarf seemed to draw nearer within the confines of his portrait,  ** _ “What has brought you back?” _ **

_ “In all likelihood, the Death Eaters are going to come and raid this house very soon, and I need everything as hidden as possible.” _

** _ “The secrets of our world should be destroyed before they fall into the hands of men like that,” _ **

Ed agreed, but there was something that kept him from just taking a match to the whole place like he’d done to the family home all those years ago.  _ “What if someone else finds their way here? I’ll be able to seal up the rift that Flamel created all those years ago, that my father widened even further, but- it does nothing against the possibility of someone else tearing a new one, acting out of the same desperation,” _

** _ “It is true, that there is that chance. But young Alchemist, your people have far less chance of ripping worlds apart than the wizards and witches of this place. Even in the hands of those more altruistic than Death Eaters, we both know that knowledge of Xerxes and your Amestris is too dangerous,” _ **

Ed opened and closed his mouth, trying to understand what The Dwarf was saying, or rather hoping his meaning was not what Ed feared it to be,  _ “Everything?” _

** _ “Yes, Edward Elric, even me,” _ **

_ “Flamel has centuries of research. Notes and realizations that we won’t see for hundreds of more years-” _

** _ “Information is neither good nor evil, but in introducing it to the world you have a responsibility for both extremes. Do you trust your Amestris leaders with his knowledge, do you trust the leaders of other  _ nations, the leaders of this world perhaps?” **

_ “No,” _ Ed said softly pulling back from the mere thought,  _ “I don’t,” _ The thought of destroying knowledge and information was almost horrifying to him, he was a scientist, knowledge was his pursuit in life. But still, he couldn’t argue against the validity of the Dwarf’s argument. He had to recognize that when he returned to his world there would be a war at his doorstep and that the hearts of desperate people were dangerous places. But there was still something to argue here, and Ed refused to let the Dwarfs request go unspoken.  _ "What about you then? you have thoughts and emotions and-" _

** _ “When your father created me all those years ago, do you know what the first thing it was that he asked me?” _ **

_ “What?” _

** _ “Why? He asked me why. And I didn’t know what he meant. But the years have passed, and I have drawn my own conclusions. I don't have memories, I have impressions. Not my own, but your father's, and what they have led me to believe- I think perhaps you should be made aware of,” _ **

_ “And what did you conclude? Why did he ask you that?” _

** _ “I think, Mr. Elric, that he was asking me why I’d killed all those people,”  _ ** Ed froze not sure how to respond. It was a weird sensation, like standing in the road and watching a car barrel down on you, knowing that there was no time to getaway. Knowing that what came next would destroy you.  _ “What? What do you mean? Who did you kill?” _

** _ “Xerxes, I imagine."  _ ** The painting was almost disturbingly smug, ** _ "I think very much, that I was the partner who betrayed him. Even in my painted form, I am envious of the ability to move freely, but I am aware of the impossibility of my desire. I can’t imagine how much I would have hungered for it when I was real.” _ **

_ “You’re Father. You’re the one who wants to- to Destroy everything?! Why? I don’t understand!” _

** _ “I am the Dwarf in the Flask, this Father may be me, but I am not him- but I would say he hungers for power, for completeness. I asked you if you believe in God, and I will tell you now that he does. He believes in God, and he believes he can beat them.” _ **

_ “But you…” _

** _ “So when you burn these treasures to ash, light a special fire to ensure that I am gone. Because hundreds of more years in isolation may eat away at my reason and what I know I cannot do. With endless ambition and no concept of where my abilities end…”  _ ** The Dwarf gave an off halting laugh, ** _ “I refuse to become the ill-formed beast I have become in your world. I, a meer painting am better still than that.” _ **

_ “I will,” _ Ed said softly,  _ “I promise,” _

** _ “Good,” _ **

He hesitated as the sicking reality threatened to overwhelm him. The Dwarf was only a painting, but the effect they had had on Ed was so much stronger than just that, instead, acting as mentor and confidant and link to his past and it just-  _ “Will it hurt?”  _ He asked, hating how childish it made him sound.

** _ “I can’t say I’ve ever died before- but no, I don’t think it will,”  _ ** He couldn't tell if the painting was lying.

Ed turned stiffly and walked over to his ingredient shelf, pulling down bottles and containers as he came to the correct ones. He retrieved a handkerchief from his desk and poured the contents on it until he had a nice mix of sulfur, charcoal, and potassium nitrate. The transmutation was simple, hardly requiring a second thought. He returned to the Dwarf’s painting and covered the base in the black dust.

** _ “What’s that?” _ **

** _ “Gun powder. A little after your time, but I promise it’ll do the job right. Mustang used to make me transmute it for the Supplies Sargent whenever I pissed him off. I used to hate making it, but I’m certainly good at it now,” _ **

Ed paused as he finished, returned to his shelf and transmuted the rest, then proceed to cover the entire room with black power trails. Dusting off his gloved hands, Ed opened the drawer just below the painting and tucked the paper’s he retrieved inside his jacket.

_ “You’re sure about this?” _

** _ “Do it, and be done with it,” _ **

Ed nodded. This wasn’t like with Dumbledore’s death, he knew enough about explosions to know that this wasn’t an end he could watch.  _ “I’m sorry,” _

** _ “Don’t be, this is a far more merciful end than I would have had endured otherwise young Alchemist. I truly do hope you are successful in your endeavors.” _ **

Ed nodded, he wanted to say more, but he was conscious enough of his own actions to recognize that he was stalling. So he left it at that, and departed. He waited until he reached the stairs to use the Elder Wand to send fire spirling into the room. He didn’t wait for it to catch before he started to run, reaching the second to last stair before the study exploded violently. He threw up a shield charm as his shoulder hit the ground, saving him from the flying pieces of wood.

The wand had more of a kick to it than he was used to, it felt eager to fight, to show off, whereas his old Thunderbird wand had worked with him. He felt bad that it was only now that he could appreciate what he had lost.

He hurried out of the house, nearly everything he owned in the world burning behind him as he fled. For all the Dwarf’s assurances, there was a permanence to fire that he still hated, the thought of everything being lost for good. He gasped for breath as he made it to the sidewalk, flames flickering behind him. The magic that protected the house would contain the destruction, and the residents of St. Andrew’s would be none the wiser… except.

Ed walked with purpose, speed gaining the further behind he left the house turning down corner after corner until he reached- nothing. Olivia’s bar was just gone, nothing but a brick wall in its place. Ed blinked in disbelief, running his fingers over the rough surface searching for some sort of hidden catches or trigger. In the back of his mind, he recognized that he shouldn’t have expected it to be there. After their fight in Diagon Alley last year, she had said she would have to take the place into hiding but still… Somehow he’d still expected her to be there.

Perhaps St. Andrew’s had changed more than he’d realized. Her absence made it feel as if the magical heart of the city had been ripped out. Frankly, he wasn’t sure what he would have done if she was there. He had things to do, things that needed to be done. But still, at that moment, he would have given anything for a friendly face to look down on him.

“You lost son?” 

Ed whirled around, dropping his hands to his side. An old woman stood at the entrance to the alley, the beads in her dark braids catching the rising sun, “No, I- I just thought I had friends in the area,”

“You wouldn’t happen to be that Elric boy would you?”

Ed tensed, “what is it to you?”

“You know Ashely?”

“The bartender?”

She hummed and began to walk towards him, “that’s the one. He told me that if Edward Elric ever came poking around here I was to give him this,” She held out what looked like a smooth black stone.

“What is it?” He asked hesitantly.

She shrugged, “Not part of what he told me. But he’s a nice man, and it was the least I could do- he and that girl have been good neighbors over the years,”

Ed took the stone, it was warm against his hand like it had been sitting in the sun all day, not the cold chill of the early morning air. “I- thank you, I guess,”

She squinted at him, “Are you alright there?”

Ed blinked and quickly brought his sleeve up to his eyes that had begun to water, “I'm fine,” he took a deep breath, “thanks, thank you, but I- I need to get going,” He gave her a tight smile and could feel her gaze on the back of his neck as he walked away.

Inside his head, the mental message from the stone played on a loop.  _ Come find us when you need us. Come find us when you need us. Come find us when you need us _ . With a slight gasp, he released the stone in his pocket. The little reassurance that someone cared, that there was somewhere to go, almost sending him over the edge. There was a slight pull in his gut tugging him somewhere off in the distance, to Olivia. That same kind of pull he would feel when they practiced Occlumancy together.

Ed shook his head. No. Not yet. As tempting as it would be to flee to her side, this needed to be done and he would do it. So, with newly renewed determination, Edward Elric started for the Cathedral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, look what I definitely didn't get out on the day I was supposed too.


	8. The Letter

Snape watched him as he approached, but if he noticed the absence of possessions or the faint smell of smoke Ed carried, he said nothing about either of them. The stone ruins of the cathedral and its sprawling graveyard draped shadows across the grass, the atmosphere matching the growing pit in Ed’s stomach.

“You said you needed to go to Diagon Alley next?” Severus’s voice was dry and uninterested and Ed found himself wondering for whom he put on such a callus front. He had to care, Ed couldn’t see him acting so against his own interests if he didn’t, but he certainly put a lot of effort into trying to make those around him think he didn’t.

“Yes, just for a minute, shouldn’t be long.”

Severus offered him his arm and Ed accepted, gripping the man’s robes tightly. The world bent out of shape around him in a way that was almost growing familiar, however, the landing was just as jarring as the last. 

Ed froze as his senses realigned themselves. They were in an alley alright, however, it was no part of either Knockturn or Diagon that Ed recognized. Muggle cars roared past splashing up water under their wheels as Londoners strode past with their heads down. “What?-” Ed turned to look at Severus, the man’s face twisted in obvious pain as he clutched his forearm. “What’s going on?”

“The Dark Lord,” he hissed, “He’s calling for me,”

Ed’s eyes widened, “Does he know about?-”

“I don’t know, it seems too early,” he straightened up, his mouth pressed into a painfully thin line, “Can you make it to the Alley from here?”

Ed peeked his head out into the street, he recognized some of it, not all of it, but he could tell from the way Snape stood that it was going to have to be enough, “Yes,”

“Good,” Shape nodded, “Stay in the area, I’ll come for you when I can,” then without another thought, the familiar neutral mask retook the potion master’s face and his disappeared.

His cloak was too conspicuous for traveling out in the open, especially if people were watching the streets the way Andromeda feared. Stepping further into the alley Ed took the time to transmute the cloak into a coat and used the leftover fabric to make a hat to tuck his hair into. In his pocket, the Elder Wand hummed as if anxious for use, almost irritated by Ed’s continued ignorance of it. It bothered him, his Thunderbird wand had always possessed its own power, but never like this, as if it had a will of its own.

Frustrated, Ed tried to put it out of his mind as he stepped out onto the street, slipping in among the swell of morning traffic. He kept his head down, senses awake and ready to catch traces of magic in the area. It would happen every once and a while, a tug in his gut that warned that a witch or wizard was nearby- but nearly as soon as it appeared it would vanish, seemingly indicating that those out and about weren’t interested in him.

It took him far longer than he’d hoped to find his way to the muggle entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, having taken several wrong turns and spent nearly an hour walking the wrong direction until he happened to overhear a family of obvious wizards. 

He followed them inside the establishment, stepping aside for a moment to transmit his outfit back into a cloak, with the exception of his hat. While the jacket may have been good camouflage out among the ebb and flow of London traffic, within the borders of the wizarding world it was more likely to get him pegged as a muggle-born than help him blend in. That was trouble he couldn’t afford to make today.

The family stopped to get food, and Ed, realizing that he had yet to eat that morning went up to the bar for some soup. The bartender eyed him with such blatant distrust that it almost made Ed want to laugh. “I’m not a werewolf,” he assured the man lightly with a smile that showed just a few too many teeth, “and even if I was, the full moon isn’t for another few weeks,” the man flushed red as he scurried to take Ed’s order back to the kitchen.

Ed collapsed into a little booth along the far wall that smelled of ale, he could almost picture Olivia’s affront if any of her tables had developed as much residue on the surface as the one he sat in did. To his left, at one of the long tables, the voices of the members of the family began to rise in agitation. The oldest girl, Ed could see out of the corner of his eye, looked stressed. She was younger than he’d initially guessed, only one of the kids, a little boy of about six, looked young enough to be her child. The boy she was arguing with, who Ed realized he recognized with a jolt, was his age.

“Madison, I’m not joking-” the boy snapped. Ed was pretty sure he was a Gryffindor, he didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him that there would be other Hogwarts students around, but he was kicking himself for it now. Ed jerked his head around the edge of his booth before he could be seen.

“And neither am I! You absolutely will be finishing your seventh year-” he heard a sound he could only assume was her throwing her hands up in exasperation, “I don’t even know why this is an argument that we’re having right now,”

“Maybe because Vold-”

“Shut up!”

“Maybe because He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, is back and the whole fucking cycle is gonna begin again-”

“Then you should be at school. Learning. Where it’s safe.”

“I should be helping you! I should be at home! Harry says-”

“Harry Potter can’t walk twelve feet without running face-first into a basilisk, I refuse to take life advice from someone with less self-preservation instinct than a lemming!”

A small voice spoke up, and Ed would have put his money on it being the six-year-old, “What’s a lemming, Maddie?”

The girl, Madison, gave a low sigh, and Ed peaked around the corner to see her reaching over to settle the kid in her lap, “a small rodent,” she said with an air of absolute importance that Ed could only imagine was designed to cut the previous conversation short.

“Are lemmings cute Maddie?”

“I couldn’t say, haven’t actually seen one,”

“That’s sad,” the little boy said, as if hoping to convey the tragedy of her statement by the wideness of his eyes.

“Suppose it is,”

“Jesus Christ!” The Gryffindor swore, “this is not the fucking time!”

“You’re right,” Madison hissed back, clapping her hands over the ears of the kid, “It absolutely fucking is not, sit your ass back down Adam,”

The two of them glared at each other in a stalemate, the other three children watching with varying degrees of awareness. Adam let out a low growl under his breath and shoved violently away from the table, his chair screeching across the floor as he stormed away. Ed tucked further into his booth as the Gryffindor stormed past to the Alley's back entrance, running his fingers through his wild black curls.

Back across the room the girl gave a low sigh, and he heard the sound of little feet hitting the ground, “You three stay here, I’ll be right back,”

Ed turned away again as she strode past, dropping his gaze to his arms. He felt like he’d intruded on something private, but it also made him wonder, what about Hogwarts? With Dumbledore gone, was Hogwarts even safe anymore? They still had McGonagall, she was Deputy Headmistress so it made sense for her to step up to take Dumbledore’s place, But Ed had to admit that he was somewhat foggy on the whole process of appointment.

Ed was jerked out of his thoughts by the arrival of his food, the bartender still sheepishly unable to meet his eyes. “Cheers,” Ed said, as he spooned up some soup, hoping that the heat of it would eat away at the persistent chill in his bones. It was some sorta tomato bisque, spiced with something Ed couldn’t quite place. It was the kind of simple meal they would eat back in Resembool, Al, Winry and him, all gathered around Granny’s small dining room table.

He hoped they were okay, he really fucking hoped they were okay. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he came home and something had happened to them. He wondered what they would think of him, strolling in the door year's- Ed choked on his soup as a thought came unbridled to the forefront of his mind. It hadn’t been years, not to them, it had been months. He knew that, he was counting on that, but still… the thought of-

He was two years older. Two years older than Ling, than Winry, three years older than Al now… Ed did some quick math in his head and- 12 years between him and Mustang, that wasn’t as bad, but still- he was an adult, an actual adult. Fuck. Winry was… Ginny’s age?

He didn’t know why it hit him so hard at that moment, just… the reality of everything. He felt as if he’d been left behind by his world, even if it really was the other way around. He felt his spoon slip from his grip, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. His brain felt miles away from the rest of his body at that moment.

Even if he did get home, he was never getting the time he lost back. He was hardly the person he’d been when he’d been pulled away, he wondered if they would still know him as him.

“You dropped this mister,” The little boy from the next table over returned the spoon Ed had all but abandoned to the floor, “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Ed said, smiling at the kid. There was no need to inflict his dark mood on others.

The kid looked at him shyly, “You have very pretty eyes,”

“Oh” Ed’s hand rose to his cheek involuntarily, “I- thank you,”

The boy hummed, “They remind me of a dragon,” and without another word, he hurried away.

Well, he supposed, between werewolf and Hohenheim, Dragon might very well be the best option.

With a wave of his wand, Ed cleaned off the retrieved spoon, finished eating, and settled up. With nothing further to do, Ed made his way into the alley proper and headed to Gringotts. For the moment, trying to keep thoughts of home far from his mind even as they dogged his every step.

\---

Draco knew something was wrong the moment he woke. In that dark, slow, moment between sleep and waking, he knew, instinctively, that something had happened.

He dreaded opening his eyes, knowing deep down what he would find, and his fears were not let down when he finally did so. The room was empty, every trace of Ed wiped from its interior and Draco was alone.

He felt like he was walking through a dream as he made his way out of the bedroom, a low ringing in the back of his ears all that he could process. His aunt sat in the living room, a book open on her lap. He knew she knew he was there, but she didn’t raise her gaze to look at him, which told him everything. She’d known, and she’d said nothing.

“Where is he?”

“Gone,”

Draco grabbed a frame off the wall and hurled it across the room, his body possessed by the indescribable need to break and destroy or turn his pain inward and burn himself to ashes. Knowing it had been coming, the Ed would leave too, had done nothing to ease the sting of abandonment.

Andromeda gave no reaction to the outburst, only watched him, her gaze stormy with emotion Draco could only guess at. “Where is he?” he asked, hating the desperation that bled into his quiet question.

“I don’t know,”

“You’re lying to me,” he didn’t raise his voice, couldn’t drum up the energy for anger anymore. The violence possessive force that overcame him moments ago was gone without a trace.

“I’m not,”

“You’re a liar,”

For the first time, her mask shuttered, “yes, I am,” She said, “And I won’t apologize for that,”

Draco closed his eyes. He felt dizzy and sick, bordering a nauseous as he struggled to find the words, “I- why-” he raised his gaze to meet hers, “What did I do?”

The mask crumbled. The book Andromeda had been reading tumbled from her lap as she jerked to her feet and swept him up in an embrace. Her hand curled around the back of his head, pulling him down into her shoulder. For the first time, Draco realized how much taller he was than her. 

“Nothing,” She said, giving him a firm shake, “You did nothing at all. Don’t ever let yourself believe that this was your fault,”

“Whose else could it be?” He asked desperately, trying to pull away.

“Draco… Sometimes people just have to go,”

He pulled her arms from around himself and backed away, “Yeah? Then why didn’t he say goodbye? If I'm so innocent in all of this, why couldn't he say goodbye?”

Andromeda didn’t seem to have an answer for him, failing to protest as he walked back to their- his room, slamming the door behind him.

Without thinking he collapsed onto Ed’s bed, fingers trailing across the sheets as he remembered lying beside him. It was stupid and sentimental, but Draco couldn’t stop himself from remembering the steady cadence at which Ed’s side had rose and fell. He wanted to be angry, he wanted hatred to burn through him with the same virtuosity it had before Ed had come strolling into his life in fancy dress. Hatred was ugly but it was so, so much better than than the passive acceptance that clung to his bones in the aftermath.

He watched the sun light-up the carpeting, following it back to the window with his eyes, almost, for a minute missing the paper settled on the dresser.

He kind of hated the speed in which he stumbled towards it, overcome by the hope of receiving anything, any explanation, even if it was only to say that Ed couldn’t stand to be around him a longer after all the pain he’d caused him.

It was weighed down with a book, one of the muggle ones Draco had reluctantly gotten into, but from underneath it, he saw words scrawled in Ed’s familiar hand.

_ Draco, _

_ Firstly, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to leave you like this, but It had to be done. I’m not really sure what’s going to happen next, but I needed to go. It’s a long story, too long a story to be told in writing, but I was too much of a coward to tell you in person. _

Draco froze and read the passage over in his head, trying to make sense of the words that had been left behind.

_ My name really is Edward Elric, but I haven’t been fully truthful in most other things. Namely, and probably most importantly, I’m not from St. Andrews, I'm really not. _

Again, Draco couldn’t seem to make it further than a few lines. Draco knew who Ed was, he did. Even if Ed had been lying, his father had checked, sent spies to troll Ministry databases to find every last shred of information about the late Master Flamel’s apprentice.

_ The Death Eaters are after me, without knowing it's me they’re after. I’m only here, in essence, because of them, and a misunderstanding. To be blunt, I was summoned accidentally, and I am not from this Earth. I was stolen from my home through a terribly misguided combination of Magic and Alchemy, following in the path of Flamel and my father pulled here ahead of me. _

_ I need to get home, and that is why I left. I’m telling you this because I trust you. _

_ By the time you read this, Dumbledore will be dead, and you will be among only two living souls to know any truth about my past.  _

_ I didn’t know how to say this in person to you, because even though my secrets were kept for a reason, for protection, I don’t think I’ve betrayed anyone more than you by doing so. I need you to know the truth, but I was too much of a coward to watch you hate me to my face. _

_ I’m not sure if we’ll ever see each other again, but regardless of your reaction to this letter, I desperately hope we do. _

_ I think you are capable of great good, Draco, never let the skepticism of others persuade you otherwise. Family is important because the actions of those around us give us a starting place from which we build, but the evils of our fathers do not define us, even if they do create a larger chasm for us to cross. _

_ I believe in you, _

_ Edward Elric the Fullmetal Alchemist _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays! here's wishing everyone a fantastic 2020!


	9. In the Sand

Diagon Alley was deserted much like the last time Ed had stepped foot between the tall roughly built buildings. But where last time with Olivia the whole place had seemed to be holding its breath- now it reeked of the stillness of death.

There were Aurors posted in the shadows and little anyone else. Those who did risk the streets clung to one another as they fled from door to door to any shop that was still open. Even if the ministry still stood at that moment, it was as a fragment of its former self, and it was clear that everyone knew it.

Gringotts, however, seemed largely unimpressed by the darkness outside its grand door, the imposing marble building persisting still on the eve of Voldemort’s second rise. Ed was sure it was about to happen, it had to when the news of Dumbledore’s death became known. Voldemort’s one great obstacle stripped away.

The bank’s Goblins seemed largely unphased as Ed entered the main room, carrying on much as he remembered from the last time he was there. Scanning up and down the row of tellers, Ed picked out the familiar face of the one who had taken him to his father’s vault.

The teller, as if sensing his presence, raised his gaze to meet Ed’s own as he approached, and without Ed having to speak a word, motioned for him to follow. “Welcome back to Gringotts Master Hohenheim,” he said, and Ed was surprised at the lack of reaction he himself gave at hearing the old man's name. The fiery indignation had faded into a dull twinge. It was not forgiveness and it certainly wasn’t acceptance, but it was something like acknowledgment.

Ed didn’t think he would even forgive his father for leaving them without a word, he didn’t think he needed to. It was not his job absolve Hohenheim of his sins, only to be better than them. But still, he almost didn’t care. All the secrets he’d learned about his father since coming to this world only made him more sure that he had never even known the man in the first place. Ed didn’t owe him anything.

“Thank you,” He said, “I need to deposit something in my vault.”

“Right this way,” The goblin waved him forward toward the cart with a low wave of his hand. He climbed onto the cobbled together metal contraption gingerly, knowing that magic would carry them forward safely even when physics would reject them.

As they descend sharply downward into the cold and black Ed stared forward definitely, fighting the urge to look around and stare at the fantastical sights that whisked by only feet away. He needed to get used to it now, the indulgences he’d allowed himself in the past year would be a death sentence among Voldemort and his followers. 

Part of him hated the cold and logical way he was able to bury his anger and fear deep in the pit of his gut, hiding it away from sight. In many ways, he was no longer the Edward Elric that had been spat into this world all that time ago, taking cues from Mustang’s manipulations to stay alive. No, he hardly needed to rely on the Colonel anymore, he was his own model of deception now.

He never would have had… the restraint, years ago, to look the Death Eaters in the eye and not strike out at them. But, in all honesty, he wasn’t sure he liked that development, wasn’t sure what that said about him. Passivity was safer, and he knew, he knew, it was what had spared his life so far, but it was also everything he had always hated in others.

When he was younger, he had never understood how one stood by and watched injustices unfold, never understood how you could put yourself first, and just let evil happen. Now, he feared he facilitated it.

They were not thoughts he could afford to have later, when he could not afford to waver. He was so close, he couldn’t fail now, he wouldn’t allow it. He was positioning himself in the best position to succeed, he was ready, he had a clear goal, he’d left Draco behind, this had to work.

The cart came to a sudden stop before the blank wall that denoted Hohenheim’s vault, the single golden torch that served as it’s key filling the impossibly large cavern full of light. The goblin cleared his throat and Ed offered his hand, turning away as the Goblin pulled out the same ornate knife as before. The sharp pain of being cut faded rapidly, and Ed knew, when he looked back, he would find no damage to speak of.

“Master Hohenheim,” The goblin said gesturing for Ed to take the torch off the wall. Ed did as instructed, holding it far from his face in preparation for the sparks it would throw off. Ed watched from over his arm as the goblin added his blood to the flame and relieved him of the torch, slamming it against the wall, the ring of contact echoing out like the final toll of a bell.

Ed slid over the side of the cart, and strode into the blackness confidently, knowing what lay on the other side. The room was just as breathtaking as it had been the last time he’d stepped foot inside, the voices of Xerxes playing just outside the windows. Ghosts, memories of the long dead. He walked over to the main bookshelf and laid the Elder Wand to rest.

“Just for now,” he said, without thinking, as the wand almost seemed to burn his fingers, furious at the idea of being hidden away from the fight, “I’ll need your services soon, I promise,”

\---

Severus never made his reappearance, and with nowhere else to go, he made his way back to the Leaky Cauldron where he knew there were rooms for rent.

The room was small, far tinier than the Master at his house in St. Andrews, or rather, what had been his house in St. Andrews, but all the same it felt giant. He couldn’t help but feel like it was missing another bed or the breathing of another person. So it was with unease that he was finally able to drift asleep.

Logically he knew it was bad when he woke up in familiar sandy dunes, but while his head was swimming with the knowledge of what new complications this would bring, illness, the growing knowledge that his time grew short, the rest of him felt only relief. Ed looked around, his spine stiffening as he heard the familiar metallic clanging of Al’s footsteps.

Ed whipped around, stumbling towards his brother, sprinting over the sand with a lightness that would have been impossible had more than just his soul been present in Amestris. “Al!” he couldn’t help but call out, even if he knew there was no way to alert his brother to his presence.

Al came into view carrying a bag over one shoulder, a small figure at his side that Ed was shocked to recognize as Rose as he drew nearer. The two were talking quietly between themselves, something she said sending Al into a fit of giggles. 

The sound cut into Ed like a knife to the chest and he felt an unwanted burning start to grow behind his eyes.

They came to a rest at a relatively flat part of the sand, Ed trailing after them, just letting the sound of familiar voices wash over him. Al brought his hands down creating a hand surface beneath them, and then an overhang to provide shade for Rose. Moving a few feet away Al repeated the movement forming the familiar shape of a well.

He set his bag down next to Rose, pulling out and handing her several containers of food, and keeping for himself, a rather large piece of wood and some scrap metal which he used to create the well’s pulley system. Then, Al settled down next to her, Ed quickly dropping down beside his brother as Rose set places for what looked like a picnic. For a single surreal moment, Ed forgot he wasn’t there at all, as Rose set a plate in front of him, only for the dream to be shattered by a single voice.

“Ah! That looks delicious my dear!”

“Mr. Hohenheim!”

“Dad!”

Ed choked hearing that word echo from Al’s suit. Dad? He… Ed watched as Hohenheim approached them confidently, an easy smile across his face, and Ed just- stopped. He froze, his brain not comprehending what it was he was seeing. It didn’t make sense. Al didn’t-

Ed sucked in a gasp as Hohenheim walked right through him, planting himself in front of the place setting Ed had dared to dream was his own. Ed stumbled back out of his father’s shadow.

“Dad? You alright?” Al asked, and Ed could see Hohenheim's form racked with faint shivers.

“I’m fine Alphonse,” He laughed, “I think someone was just dancing on my grave,”

He wasn’t- he stood by the realization he's had earlier in the day, he didn’t… hate him, but the feeling that had risen in his gut as he stood there watching, it was- It wasn't hated, it was despair. He felt… forgotten. When he’d last seen Hohenheim his father had towered over him and demanded to know what Ed had done to his house. His house! As if he’d had any right to call it that after so many years away. With Al, he just…

They looked relaxed, at home, like a family. And some angry part of his soul couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he was the problem all along.

Ed shook that thought off violently, he couldn’t think like that. It wasn’t his fault, Hohenheim was an adult and was responsible for his own damn choices.

“Don’t you get too comfortable,” Ed grumbled, “I’m coming back, and you and I are going to be having some words,”

Hohenheim stiffened, though Ed doubted he would have noticed if he hadn’t been glaring at the man intently. “Are you alright Dad?” Al asked with an openness that Ed missed dearly.

“Of course,” Hohenheim said, he cleared his throat, “I need to step away for a second, a couple of the others need a word,” then the old man tapped his head, and Alphonse nodded in understanding. Ed narrowed his eyes as his father walked away, reluctantly following after the man in an effort to learn who these “others” were. 

Hohenheim came to a halt on the other side of the sand dune. Not far away, but with a landscape like the one they inhabited, it would be enough to dampen any sound. “I know you’re there,” Hohenheim said, his sudden words causing Ed to jump. He squinted out among the sand searching for whomever it was his father was talking to. “Yes you,” he said, his voice deep and commanding in the way Ed remembered it, the warmth he’d held toward Al utterly vanished. “I could sense you,” Ed saw no one.

“I thought I was mistaken at first, it was so long ago I can barely recall what the pull felt like, but your presence is strong. I must have damn near walked through you,”

Ed froze. No, it couldn’t be.

“Is that you Flamel? Grown tired of your wizards and magic, trying to come home at last?” there was an edge, almost like humor- no, more of an approximation of humor, as he spoke. “Come now, let me know if you’re still here,” he extended his hand out, and like a man possessed, Ed reached out as if to take it.

It passed through, as expected, but Ed had to wonder if he was only imagining the faint resistance he’d felt. “Can you hear me?” he asked, half in wonder.

“Ah, there you are Flamel,”

Ed blinked, of course he would assume it was Flamel. He would have no way of- Ed swung his hand twice through his father's waist hoping to get his message across.

Hohenheim pulled a face, a hand coming to rest along the ghost of Ed’s movement. “I don’t- are you saying that you are not Flamel?”

Ed grabbed at his hand.

“Perenelle? Is that you?”

Two swipes.

“And apprentice of Flamel’s? What are you doing, meddling in things you should not?”

Ed froze and gave two swipes again, forgetting for a moment that his apprenticeship would mean nothing here.

Hohenheim paused for a moment, “Are you a wizard?”

Ed swiped twice emphatically.

“You are Xerxsian?” there was a strange wary vulnerability to the question, as if it was something he himself could not dare to believe.

Here again, Ed hesitated. He wasn’t, not in the way it was clear his father was asking. But, one the other hand, it was his Xerxsian blood that had tied him to the array that had pulled him out of the world in the first place. Eventually, he settled on a single swipe across his waist.

Hohenheim’s face twisted up, though in confusion or anger Ed couldn't glean, “Then how- No one else-” He seemed frustrated, “There should be no one alive with enough compatible genetics to even remotely-” he froze, something dawning on his face, “Edward? Is that you,”

The wind seemed to still around him with those words and he felt like sobbing, it was like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders only to be slammed into his chest. He stumbled forward, grabbing at his father’s hand. Just the idea, the idea alone of someone, anyone, realizing that he was there.

Then as if Truth sought to rip his elation away, Edward was pulled sharply under and woke in his bed in the Leaky Cauldron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to do this last night, but luckily I had a class canceled which gave me time to throw this up for you!


	10. The Knight Bus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for this being a week late, all my professors decided to collectively assign a massive about of work rather than wait for midterms proper. Hopefully, the length helps make up for it. I do have a kinda important announcement to make, and I'm not sure how many people it would affect, but that'll be at the bottom of the page.

Harry’s eyes snapped open the second he heard the floorboards creak. He was out of bed, already half-dressed, wand in hand by the next. He’d been warned, quietly, cryptically, that while the protections of his home would hold until he came of age, it would not necessarily stop some of the more ambitious Death Eaters from trying. After the close call at the end of last year, as Professor Moody would put it, ‘Constant Vigilance’, was more necessary than ever.

Harry pressed his back against the wall, tucked out of sight in the doorways blind spot. The footsteps, as he'd feared, were growing closer and closer. The Dursley’s were gone, won some competition or other and up and bundled into their car and left him. Not that he had wanted to go, but it did put several strong points toward the possibility that somebody had broken in.

The house had a working alarm system, but he didn’t know if that made the intruder more or less likely to be a wizard. On one hand, wizards were generally pretty daft when it came to muggle technology, and he could see an intruder tripping something far more easily. But, on the other, magic provided so many alternatives for getting around it as long as you knew it was there.

There were whispers, out there in the hall, but nothing Harry could make out without risking drawing closer. But, it did tell him was that there was more than one somebody on the other side of his door.

The wood creaked,  _ “Stupify!”  _ he cried, the instant the door swung open.

“Oh fuck me!” a woman cried, the words familiar in their delivery, “Lord above Harry, it’s only us!”

“Tonks?” he called out hesitantly, peering around the corner slightly to confirm what he’d heard.

“Easy there Harry,” a soft voice said, kindness bleeding out of his words. Lupin smiled, and Harry felt all the tension drain out of him as he stumbled forward, throwing his arms around him, the tweed of his suit jacket rubbing against his cheek.

“Yes, yes, very touching,” Moody grumbled, Pushing past the both of them, he hobbled into Harry’s room, “Boy! Where’s your trunk?”

“My- my what?”

“Hop to Harry,” Tonks said cuffing his on the head kindly, “We’re getting you out of here,”

“What? Now? But I haven’t turned of age yet, I thought Dumbledore said-”

“Circumstances have changed,” Lupin said softly, a hint of something laced in his words. “Things had to be moved up, we must move quickly,”

Harry nodded, sensing the urgency in the air, and hurried back into his room, shoving books and clothing into his trunk with little regard for what exactly it was that he’d picked. Moody was helping in a sense, flicking his wand this way and that sending things fluttering around the room.

“Harry, where’s Hedwig?” Lupin asked him, coming to join them in packing.

“Out,” Harry said as he pulled a pair of shoes out from where they’d drifted beneath his bed, “Sent her with a letter to Hermione. She’ll be able to find us right? Wherever it is we’re going?”

“Don’t worry,” Lupin said clapping him on the shoulder, “I’m sure she’ll be fine. In the long run, it’s probably safer she doesn’t travel with us.”

“So what’s the plan?” Harry asked as he dragged his suitcase down the steps until Tonks took pitty and levitated it, “Where are we going, how are we getting there?”

“In short,” Lupin said, as he peeked out the front windows, “The Burrow,”

“The Burrow? Why the Burrow? What’s happened to Grimmauld Place?”

“Compromised,” Moody said roughly, joining Lupin upfront, “There have been developments,”

“Developments?” Harry said, a spark of panic lighting itself in his gut, “Is everyone alright?” Nobody answered him. 

Lupin turned to him, apology written across his eyes, “Not now Harry, We’ll tell you everything when we get to safety.”

“It’s alright Harry,” Tonks said into his ear, her hand clasped around his shoulder, “It won’t be long, we’ve just got to carry on for a little while,”

Moody hobbled back over to him fishing a flask out of one of his various pockets. “This one’s for you Potter, drink up,”

“Polyjuice?” Harry asked sniffly the mysterious liquid, rearing back slightly at the scent.

“Bottoms up Harry,” Tonks called nudging him, her own hair shifting to a deep brown, falling just past her shoulders. Her face shape rounded slightly, softening her jawline as she went. Harry, catching another whiff of his potion, found himself incredibly envious of her inherent shape-shifting abilities.

“We’ll do it together,” Lupin said, uncapping his own bottle with a good-natured smile. Harry downed the flask and waited for the uncomfortable bubbling under his skin that he associated with the potion. He winced as he felt his limbs stretch like a sudden growth spurt, and felt as his hair grew longer to brush against the back of his neck.

He caught a glance of himself in the glass of his aunt’s dish cabinet, and could only blink as he tried to get used to the change. He was tall and lanky and dirty blond, his blue flannel now just a bit short on the arms, and his undershirt was loose on his torso in a way that was actually kinda impressive considering that Harry had never been more than a few hairs above stick thin.

Lupin’s transition was stranger though, his hair turning thick and curly in wild way that Remus was quick to tie back with a hair tie Tonks provided. His skin was olivey giving him a healthier glow that Harry wasn’t used to associating with his old professor, even if he wasn’t in his own skin at the time.

Moody looked… young. He looked like himself, but with fewer scars and with more of a nose. Tonks all but confirmed Harry’s suspicions moments later when she ran her fingers through his new curls before he was able to duck away. “Moody’s too paranoid to fight in anyone's body that isn’t his own,” she said, “he keeps old hair samples and shit locked away where ever it is he bothers to sleep.”

“Fight?” Harry said, latching onto her choice of word, “Are we expecting to have to fight?” his hand tightened around his wand almost involuntarily.

“It’s… a possibility,” Lupin said as if he was weighing his words carefully, “We don’t know for sure what to expect resistance wise,”

“Why the disguises?” Harry asked, “Why don’t we just take a Portkey or Floo to the Burrow?”

“Because He-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named has people in the Ministry watching both those networks,” Tonks said, curiously observing the Dursley family pictures and their unmoving inhabitants. “Even if we whipped up an illegal Portkey- which it’s not like any of us are above doing- there’s a trace that registers. It honestly happens all the time and the Ministry doesn’t pay it much mind unless whoever is on duty is a right dick-”

“Nymphadora, back to your point if you would,” Moody interjected gruffly.

“Right, sorry. The traces usually aren’t paid much attention to, but if the Ministry is, say watching a house where a person of interest is holed up- that would be you Harry- they can use it to track their movements or give Aurors a legal excuse to bring them in, as it is still technically a crime,” 

It was honestly kind of strange to hear Tonks talk so professionally. He knew she was a capable fighter, she had to be to be an Auror, but still, he forgot in the outward air of goofiness she liked to project when interacting with others. “Okay,” Harry said, “Then what? We can’t walk all the way to the Burrow, how are we getting there?”

“Floo, eventually,” Moody said looking at him like he was sizing Harry up, “Not from here, but from the home of another member of the Order, one who’s less prominent, unknown. We can’t Apparate, you still have the Trace on you, so we’ll hail the Knight Bus, unregulated nightmare that it is to Alfold. From there we floo to a pub in Ottery and then we can walk.” He said in such a matter of fact way Harry could almost imagine Moody actually riding the Knight bus.

Tonks pulled out a grocery bag, and slowly placed Harry’s levitating trunk inside it with little regard for the utter impossibility of the action. “Ready, are we?” She said handing it over to Harry. He knew it couldn’t possibly weigh what it should, but his arm still tense in preparation for the weight.

Moddy shoved him forward towards the door and Harry stumbled outside behind Lupin. They wandered down the block a bit, an odd pit settling in his stomach as he realized that quite possibly this would be the last time he ever saw Private Drive. He wasn’t, sad. It had quite truthfully been a horrible place to grow up, but there was so much of his identity tied up in that prim little house he wasn’t quite sure what to make of leaving it.

“Is it bad that I think I might miss it?” He asked softly. Lupin hummed, not asking for any clarification.

“You know, when Sirius left home, went to live with your father and grandparents, he would talk about Grimmauld Place quite often,”

“I thought he hated it there?”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, he dispised the place. To him, I think, the only redeeming factor had been Regulus. And well, he was losing him more and more with each passing year. But as much as he hated it, his childhood and life experiences were tied up in those walls. Some people, when they leave a bad situation can cut it off entirely, cast it by the wayside, spare it no nostalgia. And some people can’t. Sirius couldn’t, and it’s alright if you can’t either. There is no set, right, way to move on from your past Harry.”

“Thanks, Professor,” Harry said quietly, enjoying the settled feeling that seeped through his bones at Lupin’s words.

“I’m hardly your Professor anymore,”

Harry chuckled, “Sorry, old habits,”

“This should do it,” Moody called to Lupin, “Nymphadora and I will join you a while up to appear less suspicious,”

Tonks scowled at the use of her first name, before reaching over for one less swipe of Harry’s curls, “See you in a mo Potter,”

The two of them made their way just a bit further up the street and disappeared into thin air. “Right then,” Lupin said, “Ready?”

“Ready,”

Lupin extended his wand arm out into the road, and the silence of the night was shattered only seconds later by the appearance of the massive triple-decker Knight Bus. The conductor swung out on to the street, and Harry was taken aback for a moment to be met by an unfamiliar face, before remembering that Stan Shunpike had been imprisoned by the Ministry in their desperation to prove they were making progress in their hunt for Death Eaters.

“Where you off to then?” the new conductor asked, his uniform fitting far more properly than Harry had ever seen Stan’s. He had close shaved hair and dark skin, standing a few inches above Harry’s Polijuced body.

“Alford,” Lupin answered.

“The both of yous?”

“The both of us indeed,”

He looked them up and down in a manner that was neither evaluatory or blatantly curious, more as if he was only performing the action because he knew to was expected of him. “Alright then, there’s a couple of beds near the back. Mind Mrs. Maple on your way in, she wakes up if you so much as look at her too hard, and that won’t be pleasant for any of us,”

“Thanks,” Harry said, passing him a Sickel as they boarded.

The conductor tipped his hat lazily but waiting until they were settled before signaling for the driver to go again.

Harry tossed his feet up onto the bed as he slid around wildly, the aforementioned Mrs. Maple sleeping utterly undisturbed. “I never understood why there were beds on this thing,” Harry grumbled. “Your ride’s short no matter where you’re going, and its not like this place ever gets still enough for you to actually sleep,”

A man sitting primly against the wall glared at Harry over his paper as if to condemn him for breaking the nonexistent silence. Lupin laughed softly at Harry’s discomfort, “It’s magic Harry, you forget. The ride is exactly as long as you need it to be. If you’re just hoping to get from one place to another your ride certainly will be quick, but if you’re needing someplace to rest until morning,” he waved his hand, “then the rocking isn’t so bad,”

As if the universe existed to be contrary, the bus slammed on its breaks and all their beds slid forward violently. The Conductor jumped down from his perch with a gracefulness that Harry found rather rude, and swung outside to great the next passengers. Moments later Moody and Tonks wandered aboard, the conductor giving her a long sweeping bow with his cap. At his side, he could feel Lupin shift restlessly.

The man with the newspaper glared openly as Moody and Tonks moved to join them, the former it appeared, had managed to fall into an even blacker mood than usual. Tonks, picking up on his unasked question, leaned in and informed him that Moody was missing his magical eye and its subsequent magical surveillance capabilities.

“I had to talk him out of transforming into a version of himself after he lost it,” She said, “It’s just too blatantly recognizable."

Moody, it seemed, was making up for this shortcoming by trying to burn a hole through each and every passenger around with his gaze. Eventually, the newspaperman, having had enough, walked up to the conductor and asked to be let off, several of the other passengers followed his lead and fled to the upper decks.

Five minutes later a man got on and stood by the front.

A minute after that a woman got on and held down the other corner.

Four minutes, three wizards got on together.

“Busy busy busy,” The conductor said, more to himself than any of the occupants, as moved further into the driver’s area than he’d been all ride. His words brought a palpable tension to the air. Harry felt Remus’s hand tighten around his shoulder, and Tonks and Moody straightened up against the wall.

For a moment, as the bus pulled away, both parties only watched each other. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, the woman lunged forward.

Harry dove to the ground, ducking behind his bed as her spell flew over his head and impacted somewhere against the back wall.

At the front of the bus, the conductor was cursing and yelled something to the bus driver, as Lupin returned fire, catching the witch off guard and sending her to the ground. His hand found the back of Harry’s jacket, balling up the material tightly.

“Stay down,” he hissed, “Wait for us to clear a path and then get to the door, we’ll be right behind you,”

“I can fight!”

Lupin turned to say more but his attention was diverted away as one of the men darted to engage him. Moody was dueling two at once, moving with a speed and viciousness he’d never seen before, taking full advantage of his younger body. Tonks covered his back, a small line of blood across her jaw as she fought the remaining wizard.

Pushing forward, Harry lunged out from behind his meager cover toward the front. One of the men tried to peel off to follow him, but Moody sent a stunner that forced the man to pay attention. Harry grabbed the conductor and swung himself behind the driver’s barrier just as another spell reached him.

“Fuck!” the young man yelled as his white-knuckled his own wand, swinging it up to point in Harry’s face. Harry batted it away, keeping himself to close to the man for him to try again.

“Stop the bus!” he snapped, “Stop the bus or so help me God!” A loud bang echoed behind them, all the windows shuttering frantically. Harry refused to break eye contact. “If we get off,” he said, “They will leave. We’re all they want,”

“But we’re nowhere near Alford,” he said shakily as if the question of destination was the only one that mattered then.

“I don’t care, stop it now.”

“Ernie?” the conductor called hesitantly.

The driver grunted and the bus came to a jarring stop, throwing all it’s inhabitants harshly. “Catford it is then,”

For a moment everything was still as people fought to regain their feet and Harry lunged around the corner for the door. Bright green light whizzed passed his head as he slammed against the clear barrier. They didn’t budge. Suddenly, a hand closed around his back and Harry turned wand in hand, ready to fight, only to be caught by Tonks. Over her shoulder, Harry saw the conductor pull a lever and the doors swung outward sending the two falling forward. 

“Go!” she hollered, and like that, the bus was gone, leaving just the two of them on the street.

“What? No, wait!” Harry cried out in the direction that the bus had disappeared carrying Remus and Moody.

_ “Expecto Patronum!”  _ A huge wolf burst from her wand, “Remus and Mad-Eye are trapped fighting aboard the Knight Bus,” She said, speaking quickly and casting the Patronus off into the night. She snagging him and pulled Harry along roughly, away from the street, the easy and good cheer from earlier completely vanished.

“What are you doing?!” Harry demanded, “We have to help them!”

“We can’t!”

“We have to too!”

Tonks spun around, the suddenness of the gesture forcing Harry back a few steps, “Don’t you think I want to help them too?” she growled,  “Don’t you think, that if I could, I would there, beside them, fighting?”

“Then why aren’t we?”

“Because you have to be safe Harry,” She said, pressing a hand of either side of his face, “You have to make it through this,”

“And they don’t?”

She closed her eyes, “Harry, only one of us is the ‘Chosen One’,”

“I don’t-” Harry shook his head, “I don’t want any of you dying for me,”

Tonks smiled, the corners of her mouth not quite reaching high enough, “Who said anything about dying, old Mad-Eye and Lupin will be just fine,”

Harry wanted to protest more, but no words presented themselves.

They kept walking, weaving through the streets with enough purpose that Harry had to believe that she knew where they were heading.

“Tonks,” he said, only after what felt like ages, “What’s the plan now? How are we getting to the Burrow,”

“Same way we always were, we’re just going via a different Order member’s house,”

“Who’s?”

She let out a low sound somewhere between a breath and a sigh, “My parents,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading as always, but to the announcement:
> 
> Some of you may have seen some stuff floating around the Internet about Fanfic Pocket Archive Library, but if you haven't, the long story short is that someone has developed an app that's lifting works from Ao3 in the name of "accessibility", I guess. The problem is, that whoever it is that's done this, is making money off it through subscription fees, tips, and ad revenue. Today I found out that everything I've ever posted on Ao3 was lifted, and uploaded to the app without my permission. Honestly, if it was just hosting stories, I'm not sure I would have minded- but this series, in particular, has been almost four-year labor of love for me and I'm really not comfortable with the idea of some random guy I've never met before making a profit off of it. (we're not even getting into the whole legal gray zone of making money off fanfics, and the shit storm it could cause if original creators decided to go on the offensive about it)
> 
> So, I'm not by any means taking it down. it's still my intention to post regularly until the conclusion of this series, but I will be changing settings to make this story only accessible to people with Ao3 accounts. From what I've heard from other writers, it so far seems to be an effective way to keep your account from the app. My plan is to leave the fic open for another week to give people an opportunity to see this message and decide if they feel like making their own accounts to continue on.
> 
> No matter your decision, I'm very thankful to have the readers I do, and I thank you again for engaging with me and this story.
> 
> Have a good week.


	11. A Knock in the Night

Draco sat in the living room reading a paperback, or rather, he sat in the living room pretending to read a paperback. He could feel his aunt's gaze through the wall of the kitchen, oppressive and searching. But still, being in her line of sight was better than not, at least now she wasn’t spending her time trying to drag him out of their- his room. He assumed, no, he knew, that this was her showing worry. Her better nature grating against those ingrained Black genetics that his mother had never been able to escape either.

He was incredibly conscious of the almost infinitesimal weight of Edward’s letter in his pocket, folded and unfolded dozens of times as he debated internally if reading it again would make it make any more sense. He hadn’t told his aunt, or Ted for that matter, anything about it, but he could tell she knew he was hiding something.

The thing was, if it was real, if there was even a chance that it wasn’t some strange outlandish joke he had no possible way of comprehending, then no one should know about the contents of that letter. He shouldn’t know about the contents of that letter. 

Which brought him right back around to where he started, wondering if anything about the damn thing was real. Because if it was, if it was real, and Ed really was from some other world, why in God’s name would he trust Draco with that knowledge.

A solid knock against the door froze everything. His aunt slowly exited the kitchen, not even her steps making noise, one hand white-knuckling a dishrag, the other wrapped around her wand.

“Draco,” she softly, “Get in the linen closet,”

“It’s only Ted, right?” he asked, on his feet without even realizing it.

She shot him a look he knew was justified, Ted wouldn’t have knocked. “Now, Draco,”

He moved, slipping around the corner and out of sight, squeezing his book in his hand as if it would make a suitable replacement for a wand. He didn’t go so far as to duck into the linen closet, sure that suck a flimsy door would do nothing against someone fully intending to kill them. And, frankly, he would prefer not to spend his last moments crouched behind the bedsheets, even if he was already hiding behind his aunt's metaphorical skirt.

The knock came again, move insistent, almost verging on frantic, and Draco heard Andromeda move across the room. He braced for an explosion of sound the moment the door swung open… but nothing came. Just a sharp intake of breath and his aunt’s quiet hiss of,  _ “Dear God, Nymphadora! _ ”

He’d never met his cousin before and was only tangentially aware of her existence. She was a character, much like Ted, that existed only in sharp jabs, and subtle insults leveled the family's way as a way of reminding them that they weren’t quite as pure as they liked people to think.

Draco moved towards the room sensing that the potential danger had passed. “Why on earth would you bring him here,” His aunt whispered harshly, her voice carrying a bit more than he suspected she would like. “You know exactly who is-” Draco rounded the corner and she fell silent sharply.

His cousin, he assumed, her pictures in the house had been rather inconsistent, stood in the doorway, filling up the frame as much as she could with her slight form. Behind her stood a boy about his age, wild blond age creeping just below eye level in a manner Draco had to assume was a major annoyance.

“Everything seems to be alright then?” he asked, raising a brow as he looked the newcomers up and down obviously.

“Yes,” He aunt said, her voice sharp and frustrated, “Everything is fine Draco,”

His cousin looked him over in turn and gave him a slight nod, the boy beside her was something else entirely. He looked torn between shock and anger, his mouth opening and closing like he was forcing himself to stop from yelling.

He hummed lowly, purposefully not giving the other boy a reaction. If he wanted to cause a problem, it would be up to him to make the first move. 

“I take it you’ll be needing the fireplace then,” his aunt said with all the patience of a woman who wanted whatever was happening with this interaction to be over as soon as possible.

“Yeah,” Nymphadora said, “But we can’t just yet, have to get the all-clear from the- from the others,” she said catching herself, “Plans changed, obviously, I don’t want to be running into anything blind,”

“I see,”

Draco’s gaze drifted between the two women, unable to parse out the tension that permeated the room. The boy was still glaring, the look having solidified into something altogether unpleasant.

“What exactly is your problem?” He snapped, finally losing his patience with being out of the loop.

The boy’s mouth snapped open to respond, but his aunt cut him off with a harsh cry of, “Draco, kitchen, now!”

“Fine,” he snapped a little harsher than he meant to. He wanted to blame it on the adrenaline rush of thinking he was going to die, but he knew it was deeper than that, that whatever was bubbling up in his gut now had been stewing since he saw Ed’s bed empty.

There wasn’t anything to do in the kitchen, his aunt had just wanted him out of the way. In all likelihood she would have sent him to his room like a toddler in the action wouldn’t have brought him closer to the intruders. But even still, in some week effort to appear not entirely useless, or feel as if he’d been banished to let the adults talk, he began digging aimlessly through the drawers.

After a few moments of digging, he found a recipe book, the pages annotated in Ted’s small neat handwriting, instantly distinguishable from his aunt’s controlled swoops. He flipped through it aimlessly until he found something with only a few steps. He’d never admit it out loud, but Draco wasn’t wholly sure if he’d ever cooked anything in his life.

He wandered around the space collecting ingredients in a manner he was sure was horribly inefficient, but couldn’t find it himself to care, his thoughts impossibly far from the task at hand. Internally he was composing a letter of all things.

He could almost feel the thick paper of Ed’s words on his fingers, phantom sensations from running his fingers along the edges.

If It had worked for Ed, to get all his thoughts down and out, maybe it would work for him too.

_ Dear Ed, _

_ Why? _

No, that was not good. Try again.

_ Dear Edward, _

_ Please come back. _

Fuck, that was so much worse. Especially considering Ed would never even see these nonexistent fantasies of his. He couldn’t even manage to lie to himself about how much he wanted his friend back.

_ Ed, _

_ I don’t know why you would trust me with this, and I just want to understand why you left. Please, someday, will you tell me the truth? _

Draco hit something with his elbow, sending the metal cookware to the floor with a crash. He winced, feeling the harsh clang in his teeth.

This wasn’t working. It was stupid and self-pitying and was doing nothing to help him put his thoughts in order. 

“Fuck,” he hissed through gritted teeth, bending down to retrieve the pan. For a moment he just stayed down there, listening to the faint sounds of voices in the other room and fighting the urge to fully stoop to eavesdropping. He had to remind himself that he didn’t care, that the less he knew the better. The less involved he was the less likely he would be to make a decision that would hurt others.

Setting the pan back on the counter he gave up his futile attempt at cooking, shoving everything back into the drawers they had come from. He took a deep breath and stepped into the room. His goal had been to tell his aunt that he was going to his room, to not let her contradict or sideline him, to just go and get gone far from whatever mess was going down in the living room. At least, that was the plan up until he came face to face with Harry Potter.

Draco froze, every muscle in his body locking up all at once. His mind raced between surprise, and a bitter ‘of fucking course he’s here’. Harry too, seemed shocked by his reappearance, but only for a moment, before his face twisted into the angry look that the blond boy had shot him only a short while before.

“I should have guessed,” Draco said, not managing to inject quite enough bit into his exhausted delivery, “you’ve had a proclivity for that Polyjuice shit since we were in the second year, haven't you. I distinctly remember Granger’s furry mug sulking about the Hospital Wing,”

“That’s enough Draco,” his aunt said, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care enough, letting his lips pull back into a familiar smirk. The action feels simultaneously alien and deeply familiar, like pulling on well-worn armor.

“Did you miss me so much, Potter? Or were you so desperate for a hint of the magical among your tiny muggle word that you would stoop to interaction with my dear family? You seem well enough acquainted with my dear cousin. Have you been so abandoned?”

Potter snarled, and Draco almost wanted the other boy to hit him like he knew that he was itching to do so. He didn’t have a wand to fight with, this was the only way he could land some blows, and he needed a fight. He could feel it in his blood, the urge to strike and spit and fight dirty in ways far below him.

His cousin moved to intercede wrapping her fingers in Potter’s collar, holding him back. “Me, Malfoy,” Potter laughed, that little bit of cruelty Draco always felt as if he was the only one to see, rising to the surface. “I’m the abandoned one? What of your manor, Malfoy? What about your parents and friends?”

“Alive, unlike yours are, or will be soon enough,”

“Draco!” there was a sharp warning in her tone, so like his mothers. But she wasn’t his mother, Andromeda had cultivated small slivers of softness where his mother was fierce and mean. She couldn’t touch him.

“At least my friends talk to me,” Potter said, “When was the last time you saw any of yours? Do they know where you are? Do you think they even care? I think they're probably thrilled to get rid of you. I mean, it's not like you snakes have ever heard of the concept of loyalty.”

“That's enough Harry,” his cousin snapped, yanking him back just as Draco jerked forward. Potter’s last blow hitting home a little more comfortably than Draco liked, “I know that you’re upset, I know you want to fight,” she said, “but not now Harry. He’s not worth it.”

“You should be locked in a fucking cell for what you did,” Potter snapped, “Where did you get off thinking you were actually a match for Dumbledore? Even with whatever game Ed was playing you never stood a chance, he’s the greatest wizard alive.”

“Yeah? And what the fuck do you know about Ed?” 

Potter laughed, “I sure as shit know more about him than you do.”

“You wanna fucking bet?” Ed's letter weighed a thousand pounds in his pocket.

“Yeah, yeah, lets bet,”

“Harry,” his cousin cut in, her tone warning.

Potter just talked over her, “So, did you, for instance, know, that he was fucking working for us? For the Order? That he hated you and yours? Because I mean, how could he not, after your lot strung him up in a basement to rot?”

Draco fought to keep the flicker of pain off his face, fought the urge to spit the truth back in Potter’s face. But then, something occurred to him, something he had missed at first in the heat of his rage and anger. Draco laughed.

“What?” Harry snarled, tugging again against the grasp holding him in place.

“I just realized,” Draco said, “You think he’s still alive, don’t you?”

“What? Ed?”

Draco waved him off, “No, no, Dumbledore. You think Dumbledore is still alive. You said that he was the greatest wizard alive, and I find that fucking hilarious because he’s really not. Not anymore at least,”

He could tell in an instant that he'd broken something, crossed some line. Nymphadora's face had gone white, but she wasn't surprised. That's why Potter was there, Draco realized all at once. Dumbledore was dead so they were moving their precious last hope. And everyone had known but Potter.

“You’re lying!”

“Believe whatever you like,” Draco said as he walked across the room, throwing Potter a grin over his shoulder. As the door to his room latched behind him Draco let out a shuddering breath. It was like all his energy escaped him all at once, and he slumped to the ground. “Fuck,” he muttered just under his breath. He was shaking.

Through the door he could hear Potter rounding on his cousin, demanding answers that she could only respond to with useless platitudes. And for once, for the first time in his entire life, Draco felt almost the slightest bit bad for perfect Harry Potter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Multiple flights + jet lag + major time zone changes = me being horribly unproductive and late publishing this chapter.


	12. In The Cellar

Ed left his room at the Leaky Cauldron as dawn broke through the window. His payment from the night before covered him until noon but he couldn’t rid himself of the shaky feeling that crept into his bones at the thought of his dream.

At this point, he’d long gotten used to his night time drifting towards Amestris and the ill, nauseous, feeling that followed. But a large part of that had been the routine of the whole thing. The aimless wandering from friend to friend utterly unnoticed, with the exception of those among them with enhanced senses like Greed.

But he’d been noticed. Hohenheim had noticed him and recognized that it was him. Hohenheim was with Al, and the old bastard had fucking noticed him.

It was a wholly hysteria-inducing experience, his relief and frustration, and exhaustion, all compounded with his many many issues with the old man, bubbling into a confusing cacophony of emotions that ultimately just left him numb.

Hohenheim had noticed him.

People back home knew. Someone, somewhere, finally knew.

Ed wandered along the various twisting streets of Diagon Alley, his transmuted hat pulled low over his hair, his hands tucked deep into his pockets. He was in a far from advantageous position at the moment, wandless and alone, not to mention the pit in his stomach that came from getting yanked between universes.

He still had his Alchemy of course but using it was a double-edged sword. It was effective, being in this universe had proven that it was more than a match for magic, but it would also give him away immediately and he needed to lay low to sell whatever lie Snape would be telling about him to the Death Eaters.

The original plan would have to be shifted. Snape being called back while Ed had still had the Elder Wand in his possession, meant that he couldn't tell them that he'd found him while killing Dumbledore. It meant that Ed was going to get a very short notice as to what exactly he'd be lying about.

Feeling eyes on his back Ed dipped around the corner and transmitted the bottom of his robes into a scarf that he quickly wrapped around his lower face. He couldn’t tell danger from shopkeepers in this climate, everyone's gaze was weighed down by suspicion.

The feeling persisted, and Ed picked up the pace. He reached out his senses as far as he could with the pounding headache he had, trying to pick out individual magical signatures from the normal chaos of the alley. There was someone, two someones, or at least two collections of someones if he wasn’t mistaken. They weren’t quite flanking him, It wasn’t organized enough for that, but it was something.

A particularly sharp burst a pain had Ed wincing, his magical perception dropping as he was forced to contend with the ice pick that had entered just beside his eye. He let out a slight hiss as he oriented himself, making the split-second decision to turn sharply.

He could feel himself going down into the depths of the alley, even if his vision was spotting in a way that made concentrating on his surroundings more than a little bit difficult. He couldn’t feel the presence, but he could hear, just faintly the sounds of footsteps along the cobblestones.

Ed sped up, but even as he did so he knew it wasn’t going to be enough. The steps picked up and Ed burst into a run, barreling down the street, thankful for the absences of regular patrons.

_ “Incarcerous!”  _ his pursuer called out, his loud voice cutting through the relative silence of the evening like a knife. Ed lunged to the side, only having the vaguest idea of where the spell was aimed. Ropes flew past him, and Ed staggered, regaining his footing.

His attacker was tall and thin, with short-cropped hair and a long ragged beard, dressed in a coat that had seen better days. Ed turned down another side street, taking advantage of his momentary lead to knock against the doors of shops, looking for somewhere to take cover in. Nothing gave, and Ed found his eyes meeting those of a woman through the glass of her storefront window. Ed opened his mouth, but before he could speak she gave a sharp shake of her head and flicked the curtains closed. Shutting him out completely.

Ed kept running, his automail leg jarring sharply with each step, and an angry reminder that his time unconscious had likely left his leg with a need for a lookover. 

The man whipped around the corner and raised his wand as Ed spilled out onto a larger strip of shops that Ed recognized as Knockturn alley’s main street. The spells just kept coming, and taking any cover meant he had to stop running, something he couldn’t afford to do.

Then without warning, another figure entered the fray. Ed’s eyes widened as his attacker was tackled off his feet. “Boy!” a sharp voice called to him. Ed turned to find a woman waving him towards her hurriedly, her long red hair framing a pair of pale golden eyes.

Ed took off without a second thought, a potential threat outweighing a known one. Her hand clamped down around his wrist and pulled him along after her. She clearly knew her way around, making turns without a second thought before coming to a stop out front of a worn-down bookstore. She reached out and pounded on the door loudly, and it was wrenched open moments later by a crooked old man who ushered them inside and quickly shut the door behind them.

She continued pulling him along, her grip almost bruising as she led him to what appeared to be a cellar door. The old man unlocked it and she pushed him down in front of her. Ed pulled back from her as he entered the room, flattening his back against the wall to catch his breath. “Who are you?” he asked, his heart still beating violently in his chest.

She just looked at him, her eyes scanning him up and down, assessing. She wasn’t much taller than him, and even in the near darkness of the cellar, he could make out the deep twin scars slashed across her face. One extended from her ear to the corner of her mouth, the other sliding under her eye, dangerously close to blinding her.

“Do you know who that man was?” she asked, her voice rough and low.

Ed shook his head. He could make guesses, of course, he could, but he still didn’t know who she was, and it felt like any answer he gave could be a trap.

“Do you know what he wanted from you?”

Ed shook his head again. 

She hummed in a way that felt short and judgemental, “How old are you?”

“I’m- 18,”

“Hard one that?”

Ed frowned, “I’ve been busy,” 

There was a loud noise as the mouth of the cellar opened again. The woman pushed herself forward, using her body as a barrier between him and anyone incoming. The steps coming down were staggered, and Ed saw the woman relax as the approaching figure gave a low sigh.

“Still alive then?” she asked, inspiring a thin laugh from the stairs as the stranger finished his descent and entered the room. It was the man from before, the one who’d attacked Ed’s pursuer. He was big, older than the woman, with a thick beard and dark skin, his hair falling to his shoulders in neat dreads.

“Yep,” he said, “haven’t managed to get rid of me yet,” He winced as he moved though, and Ed could see he was in pain.

“Sit down,” she said, pushing him into a seated position. Her tone was rough, but even Ed, who’d known her for no time at all, could hear her concern.

“Hey kid,” he said, nodding Ed’s direction, and Ed was shocked to see that his eyes were gold as well. They were darker than hers, leaning more toward a warm amber, but gold nonetheless.

“You’re werewolves, you’re both werewolves” Ed breathed, unable to keep his observation in.

"That we are," He laughed, “I saw you earlier, at the cauldron, and I heard there were snatchers in the area, figured I would keep an eye on you, make sure you got to wherever it was you were going.”

“Snatchers?”

“That man chasing you,” the woman said, as she tightly wrapped bandages around the man's torso.

He hissed with momentary pain, “Easy V, I'm only human you know.” He said it like it was a joke they shared, but at that moment, one that she didn’t seem to find funny.

“What’s your name then kid?”

“Ed,” he said, purposely dropping his last name.

“Well, nice to meet you, Ed, I’m Isaac,” He said, and gestured up with his chin, “My angry friend here is Valeska,” She hummed, and tightened his bandages again. “So, where were you headed? Cause, far as I could tell, you were just kinda,” he waved his hand, “wandering,”

Ed couldn’t fight the urge to shift under the man's gaze, because he was right. He’d been reckless, caught up in himself, lacking awareness of his surroundings. “I- I wasn’t really going anywhere,”

Valeska snorted, but Isaac shushed her, “You’ve got to be careful about that these days, especially,” he nodded towards Ed, “with eyes like yours,”

“Oh!” Ed shook his head, “I’m not- I’m not a werewolf,”

“We know kid,” Isaac gave a soft chuckle.

“You do?”

“It’s… I don’t know how to explain it, V?”

“You don’t move right,” Valeska said, taking over, “We can’t smell it on you, or any of that shit the ministry likes to push, but being like us? Being a wolf? It weighs you down. Particularly now, when there are people on every side who want us, no werewolf is just ‘wandering’ like you were,”

“Then why step in? If you knew what I was, or rather what I wasn’t, why step in?”

“Easy,” Isaac said, “that snatcher didn’t know you weren't, and neither of us are the type of people to stand by and let a kid get grabbed. We might not be fighters and may be actively avoiding taking sides, but we aren’t that cold.”

“I don’t- sorry, I’m still not entirely sure as to, what exactly is a snatcher?”

“They work for You-Know-Who,” Valeska said, “or, at the very least, work alongside him. You might have heard of Muggle-Borns going missing? That’s them. However, substantially less reported, is that they’re grabbing werewolf kids too,”

“Why? What do they- what does he get out of that?”

Isaac sighed, “The ministry,” he began delicately, “has made it very hard for people like us. It’s always been like that, but in recent years especially, they’ve been rolling back a lot of the legal protections we’ve been granted. Have you heard Dolores Umbridge?”

“Unfortunately,”

“Yeah, anti-werewolf legislation has been her baby ever since getting booted out of that job at Hogwarts,”

“But how does this tie back to the snatchers?”

“Because You-Know-Who wants an army,” Valeska answered. “And when the ‘good-guys’ have been shitting on you for so long, some folks want to believe that a world made in his image will be better, even if that just means a single group sits on the rung below you for once.” She sighed, “They take kids because most of them never meet another werewolf until well into adulthood. They want to be a part of something, and that means they can be manipulated.”

“So you..?”

“Keep an eye around here,” Isaac finished for him, “This place, Ceaser and Sons, it's… discreet,”

“There’s one in Hogsmeade, isn’t there?” Ed said, recognizing the name as the shop he’d picked up Dumbledore and Grindlewald’s journal at.

Isaac hummed, “Yeah, the boss, my boss, his wife got, uh, bit- and well, our lot don’t have the longest life expectancy, so he helps where he can, keeps people, mostly kids, out of sight at least for a little while. We don’t take sides, we can’t, this place is only a safe space as long as it isn’t a target.”

“I understand,”

“You do though,” Valeska said, speaking up, “take sides that is,”

Ed nodded, slowly, “I have opinions, as to who is right and wrong, and people I want safe. Sometimes,” he said bitterly, “it feels like I have far too many commitments.”

Isaac looked him over, and while his gaze was evaluating, it lacked the cold scrutinization Ed had grown used to, “You got somewhere to go, kid? Somewhere to ‘wander’ home too?”

“Yeah,” Ed said softly. “I have somewhere I need to go,”

“That somewhere gonna give you trouble?”

“Probably,” his voice croaked a little and he swallowed it down with a wince.

“Kid-”

“I appreciate it,” Ed said, cutting him off, “I do, thank you. I’m honestly not sure what would have happened if that snatcher had taken me in, but I- I think I need to go now,” he laughed a little, “need to get to that somewhere,”

He looked pained, “Kid-”

“-Isaac,” this time it was Valeska who cut him off, “Let him go,”

He frowned, clearly unhappy. But in the end, he didn’t try to stop Ed again, only climbed to his feet shakily, “I’ll go check with the boss, see if the coast is clear,”

They were silent for a moment, “Thank you,” Ed said softly to her.

She hummed, the chillness from earlier was gone leaving only exhaustion, “I wouldn’t thank me, I can’t imagine we’re letting you go to anything good,”

Ed didn’t respond.

“Kid…” she hesitated, “I know you said you’ve got those commitments, but remember to take care of yourself too,”

Isaac opened the cellar door and called down to tell them the coast was clear, and Ed headed up without answering her. As he stepped out onto the street he found all traces of the scavenger's destructive warpath had been erased, and Ed realized that he’d never asked what had happened to the man. He wondered what it meant that they’d never told him.

He kept his head down, and his scarf wrapped tightly around his face as he made his way back up the street to Diagon Alley. He wondered if people knew yet, that Dumbledore was dead, that the Order and the Ministry were officially on the back foot, or maybe they were still hiding in their homes believing things couldn’t get worse.

He wondered what that would be like in Amestris, everyone knowing, knowing that Father planned to kill them all. Knowing everything the government and military were responsible for. He couldn’t even properly imagine it.

Ed came to a halt on the main street. Standing in front of the inn was Severus, waiting. The man was paler than he’d been only the night before and he seemed stretched to the limits. Ed approached slowly, feeling like he was marching to his own execution.

“Elric,” he said by way of greeting, “It’s time to go,”

Ed nodded, pushing away the growing pit of dread in his stomach, “I’ll get my things,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry about the weird delays recently, Coronavirus has really wreaked havoc on my schedule. Like plenty of Colleges out there my school got shut down and I had to figure out flights to get home at the last minute. Online classes start tomorrow for me, and while I don't think that will affect my update schedule much, it's a new thing so we'll have to wait and see some.


	13. On The Stone Floor

Ed pulled his things together, taking his last moments alone in his room to gather his resolve. The low-grade anxiety that always seemed to be humming along just under the surface caught in his lungs. Ed hated how shallow his breaths felt like he was hovering just on the edge of drowning.

He shook himself and straightened up. He hadn’t had much to gather, just some spare coins, his journal from Sirius and a quill, all off which he tucked into his pockets. He’d transmitted his robes some, embellished them to make them appear to be of slightly better quality. They were nothing like the fine robes he’d worn last time he’d been in the presence of the other Death Eaters, but he didn't have many options.

He locked his room and turned the key over to the man behind the bar. Snape was waiting where Ed had left him, his demeanor unchanged. “What’s the plan then?” Ed asked, “what are we saying?”

Severus frowned, “Albus was looking for you, tracked you back to your ancestral home through your Hogwarts acceptance letter, and I was tracking him.” He paused, “you weren’t there, I… confronted Albus, he believed us to still be on the same side, and such let slip where he believed you might have gone, and I killed him. Retrieving you was an afterthought of my mission, a gift for the Dark Lord,”

“So he knows then, that Dumbledore’s dead?”

Severus nodded, “Narcissa Malfoy informed him, she felt the vow between us break,”

All cards on the table now, Voldemort would be moving forward rapidly, unhindered by the specter of Dumbledore. “And me?” Ed asked cautiously, “What was said about me?”

The potions master was silent for a moment. “I will not lie to you Elric, I do not think your reception will be a kind one. There are some who think of you as a traitor, you and Mr. Malfoy,”

Ed nodded, and swallowed down the lump in his throat. He’d known it was a possibility, it was always a possibility, and it was a possibility that he had accepted. “Alright,” he said. “Anything else you need to tell me?”

“Implied that you had escaped the Order, but I gave no details. Those are yours to create and maintain,”

The wind swept through the alley and Ed had to fight off shivers. He knew it was time, but he couldn’t seem to take the next step. So, out of pity or impatience, Severus made it for him. The man’s hand closed around his wrist, and they were gone.

Ed swallowed down the sick crawling it's way up his throat, shaking himself out of Severus’s grasp. He glanced around the room they’d appeared in and was surprised to see himself within Malfoy's entrance hall. It felt like ages since he’d last set foot there, and it made the absence of Draco at his side all the more noticeable.

The large floor to ceiling door to their left pushed open slowly, Wormtail's shadow dwarfing its owner in the dramatic lighting. “Good evening Severus, Master Elric,” His voice was weak and wheezy in a way that made Ed’s skin.

Severus stroud past him without sparing the man a glance. Ed stumbled to match his gate, and slid past the short wizard and his eye-catching human-esk metal hand. The look of it as it moved so fluidly that it turned his stomach in a way magic had failed to do for a long time now. Wormtail’s gaze followed Ed as he walked, and he could almost feel the phantom feeling of his metal fingers curled around his jugular.

They passed the occasional Death Eater as they went, all masked and indistinguishable from one another. Severus’ pace never wavered and Ed was sure the man knew where they were going, even as he fought back the feeling that he was being swallowed by some great beast.

It was eerie how little sound filled the manor, only the occasional sound of carefully measured footsteps across the hard stone. The whole place felt cold and dead like a mausoleum, any and all liveliness sapped from its bones.

Severus took him down a hallway Ed realized he recognized, as they passed the portrait of Margret Greengrass. She watched him from within her frame, long blonde hair framing her face in a picture of distinguishment. The flippant disregard she had shown for the masters of the house when they’d discussed Hoenheim was wiped from her face as if it had never been there in the first place.

They continued for three doors past where she hung, before coming to a sudden halt. Severus was not the kind of man to take a deep steadying breath before doing something he dreaded, but even still, it was a near thing. There would be no last-minute pep talk, no words of advice or a reminder, for all intents and purposes even the paint of the walls was the enemy and a spy. The infinitesimal pause the potion master took was all the hesitation they would be allowed. Beyond that single solitary moment, Severus showed no sign of resistance as he knocked on the door. It swung open unaided, revealing a large office of sorts, though at the moment Ed thought it more resembled a secondary throne room. For inside sat Voldemort in all his might.

Ed had to fight back the revulsion that swept over him as rotten evil magic filling his senses, choking him, and threatening to drown him in its dark mass. “My Lord,” Severus bowed, low and deferent, and Ed took his cue. He stared at the stone longer than he felt acceptable but knew a longer bow was far better than one too short.

“Severus,” Voldemort said, that half-whispered way, that made his words crawl across Ed's skin, “I thank you for such a prompt return, and such a successful trip as well! How nice it is to have master Elric back among us,”

His slit red eyes shifted Ed, and he replied softly, his throat not allowing for anything else, “It’s good to be back my Lord,”

“yes, yes I am sure it is,” he raised his hand to the door, “Severus, leave us,” Ed watched as the man left without question, hating how much more afraid he became in that instant. Logic told him that Voldemort was not a man to be intimidated by the eyes of others, that anything he would deign to do to Ed alone, he would do without hesitation before an audience. But as much as he might like it to be, logic was not always the loudest voice in his head.

“Come sit with me Edward, I think we have much to discuss,”

“Yes, my Lord,”

He seated himself across the table, at the far end, from Voldemort, more than a little glad for the distance between the two of them, even if it was largely imaginary. “Would you care for something to drink?”

Ed opened his mouth to refused, but Voldemort had already placed his finger on the Dark Mark emblazoned on his skin, “Thank you, Sir,”

Voldemort smiled, not unlike what one would imagine it would be like if snakes could simile, wholly unpleasant and unsettling. “How are you liking Hogwarts Edward?”

For a moment Ed was taken aback, the question seemingly coming entirely from left field. “Well enough,” he answered cautiously, “The Slytherins were alright, it’s different than what I’m used to. With Flamel, I mean,”

“Ahh, I’d imagine it is. I’m told you are a half-blood?”

Again, Ed had to reorient himself to answer, “I- I am, my Lord,”

“I will admit, that took me a bit by surprise, I never imagined a Hoenheim would marry a muggle,”

“He didn’t,” Ed said, without thinking, “They weren’t married,”

“Oh? Is that why you do not carry the Hohenheim name? Do you resent that fact?”

Ed couldn’t help the way his face skewed up, “No, I don’t want his name,”

There was silence, and then it was broken in perhaps the worst possible way, laughter. The Dark Lord laughed in a harsh hacking way, like his throat was seizing, and Ed wanted nothing more than for it to stop. “What a peculiar thing you are, Master  _ Elric,” _ he said, stressing Ed’s last name over several seconds. “A Slytherin that does not claim power all but given to him on a silver platter,”

“To take his name would give the impression that I owe him any loyalty at all. Powerful or not, Hoenheim was hardly in my life long enough to deserve the title of father,” As soon as the last word left his mouth he regretted his tone. It didn’t do to scorn his supposed heritage in the face of one of the greatest blood-purists in history. As he’d come to realize, he had many feelings towards Hoenheim, familial love was not one of them, even if there was a part of him that suspected that he’d always be looking for his approval.

“Loyalty, you consider it something of great importance then Edward?”

“I do,”

“Ahhh,” Voldemort shifted, his figure becoming something imposing a daunting to even look at it, “Then imagine my surprise, when you, at years end did not return to my side,”

It was a trap, linguistic or otherwise. He couldn’t contradict Severus, and he couldn’t embellish to spare himself punishment, because there wasn’t a right answer to give. Any unnecessary details just threatened to tangle him up later.

“I wasn’t awake until only weeks ago, my Lord,” He watched Voldemort’s expression but nothing changed on his smooth pale face, “After the battle at the Astronomy Tower, I was rendered unconscious, and taken by the Order of the Phoenix,”

“Rendered unconscious by Dumbledore? I know you attempted to assisted young Draco Malfoy in his mission,”

“No, my Lord, by Death Eaters,”

“And why would they do that?”

Ed hesitated, and he knew he shouldn’t have. He couldn’t lie, because there were witnesses that could tell the truth, but he knew the truth place the blame firmly on Draco’s shoulders.

“Why would they do that, Mr. Elric?”

“Because,” he swallowed harshly, “They thought it would motivate Draco to kill Dumbledore,”

“Ahhh,” he smiled again, as the door to the room opened. Narcissa stood there, a tray in hand, laden with the drink Voldemort had called for earlier. She looked tired. Worn down in a way that seemed wholly unright for what Ed knew of her. But despite all of this, she was not beaten down. She remained firmly dignified. “Narcissa, come in, join us,”

He gestured for her to sit at his side, and as she neared Ed could see the faintest traces of surprise and something else, something egger in her eyes, when she looked at him. “My Lord,” she bowed as she sat after pouring them both a glass of wine.

“We were just discussing your son,” Her eyes flicked to the side Ed sat on for the briefest of instances before refocusing straight ahead. “And his… particular shortcomings at Hogwarts,”

Ed could see the way her jaw shifted under her skin, the urge to rise to Draco’s defense was clear as day, but she held her tongue. Ed had to wonder how much longer Voldemort would be content to torture her like that, how much longer before he simply got bored and decided to punish her more proactively.

“Yes, my Lord,”

Voldemort reveled for a moment longer in her discomfort before turning to Ed again, “And perhaps you can aid us in something else Master Elric, you and  _ Draco _ ,” Ed was sure he only said his name, only said it that way to twist the knife in deeper, “You and he were together in the Astronomy Tower yes? Being  _ motivation _ ?”

“I was,”

“Then, answer me this, where exactly is young mister Malfoy now?”

Ed opened his mouth, to lie, to say he hadn’t seen him, that they hadn’t been kept together, but at that moment Voldemort dropped all pretenses and threw himself violently against every mental barrier Ed had accumulated over the years.

Ed howled. He couldn’t help it, he was burning, his every sinew and nerve alight with pain. His hands reached up unthinking and pressed into his skull as if to stop his brain bleeding out his ears.

His defenses were holding, but they wouldn’t for much longer. 

Voldemort knew he was hiding something, there was no way he could deny that simple fact of reality. He would keep searching, tear open his head until he found Draco and Andromeda and Ted. If he let Voldemort see the information he was looking for, they were as good as dead and their blood would be on Ed's hands.

The solution presented itself in a moment of desperation, as the first cracks began to break through his defenses. Voldemort could not be persuaded, he could not be held back, he could only be distracted. Ed had to give him something else, something he knew the man was looking for. Something far shiner than Draco Malfoy.

So as his mental defenses ruptured in their entirety, Ed pushed his memories forward.

The basement of the old Black Manor and the ring of Death Eaters.

Escaping with Sirius and Remus.

Pyxis.

Elia.

The burnt-out ruble of the Rosier home.

The scent of smoke staining the air black.

_ It’s me, I’m the Golden-eyed Beast you’ve been looking for. _

And just like that, he was released. Ed dragged in ragged breath after ragged breath, face pressed against the table. Slowly and shakily, Ed pushed the fragments of walls back into place. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Narcissa, standing, eyes darting between Ed and Voldemort. Wondering if he’d given her son up.

Weakly, carefully, subtle enough that his movement could be mistaken with tremors, Ed shook his head no.

Then Voldemort began to laugh, and laugh, and laugh. Ed’s ears rang and he squeezed his eyes to fight back a swell of nausea. He wasn’t ready, not for that amount of magic, not while he was still healing, and certainly not when the boundaries between this world and Amestris were so weak.

Time passed strangely then, his eyes shifting in and out of focus and into a sort of grey middle ground. At some point, he was gripped harshly and dragged from his seat. Ed blinked up slowly to see Wormtail on his one side and a masked Death Eater on his other. They took an arm apiece, and Ed didn’t even have the strength to get his feet under himself. Without grace or care, they drug him over the cold stone and deeper into a manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... every member of my family is involved in almost constant zoom calls so our internet is waaaay overtaxed. So, updates should still be pretty consistent, but with a couple of days leeway to account for quarantine bullshit. That being said, stay safe everyone, I sincerely hope you are all doing okay.


	14. Melee Among the Stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter leans a bit into the kinda-graphic area, so to be cautious, if that's the kind of stuff that makes you uncomfortable, I'll leave a chapter description at the end so you can make the decision whether or not to read for yourself. Cheers.

Ed blinked lazily as his head dragged along the stone, he couldn’t seem to get his eyes to focus on anything, and each time his gaze wandered over one of the many candles lining the wall he was blinded again. They didn’t bother to levitate him when they reached the stairs, though his head was spared as his arms were yanked upwards, his hips and back were not. Ed couldn’t help the moan of pain that escaped him as the edge of the steps struck him directly on the port of his leg, sending fire along the sensitive nerves.

His head lolled to the side as they reached the main floor, his line of sight mostly containing flooring and the bottoms of doors. However, as they rounded the corner his eyes settled on a pair of shoes under long black robes. Ed’s eyes roamed upward, without conscious decision, as he was pulled past the figure. Dark eyes met his own impassively, their owner looking down on him and his state utterly unbothered.

Then, as if a switch was thrown in his brain, Ed recognized him. “Severus…” he mumbled, trying to clear his head. “Severus-” his words cut short as the man turned and walked away. 

The dismissal hit Ed like a punch to the stomach, and in his confusion and anger, his mind began to right itself again. He had been overloaded, just like he’d been in the Astronomy Tower, his body not fully repaired from being brought so low. But now, his thoughts came quicker and quicker, his senses waking themselves back up.

Ed twisted, jerking against his captors' grasps, gasping harshly as one of the Death Eater’s foot was driven into his ribs. Ed curled up as much as he could with his arms hoisted over his head. The next kick finding his shoulder, then the back of his neck. Ed felt something thick and wet hit his face. “Stay down!” the man hissed, and Ed felt his head spin as they resumed dragging him deeper and deeper into the house.

Ed tried to think past the pain of the fresh bruising blows and catalog his body. His legs felt distant from the rest of himself but far and away the most functional part of him. The kick to the back of his neck had left him disoriented, and he wasn’t quite sure how to free his arms with his strength so weakened. 

As they shifted directions, some of his coat was swept beneath him and he could feel his journal and quill digging in just under his ribs. But no wand. The initial surge of panic that rose at the realization that he had no wand anymore to defend himself was quickly overtaken by the understanding that it didn’t matter anymore. Voldemort already knew who he was, there was no need to hold back any longer. Unrestrained Alchemy was his again, no more keeping up appearances.

He just had to be patient, had to wait until he was far enough away from the other members of Malfoy Manor so that his captors couldn’t call reinforcements immediately. For all his skill and experience fighting with Alchemy, it would do him no good to forget the current limitations of his body. Physically, he shouldn’t rely on as much brute force as he did normally, and beyond that, he didn’t know how much would be ‘too much’. The last thing he wanted to do was to take himself out by changing too much energy. There was no metric to keep track of, he would have to be cautious.

Ed closed his eyes and allowed himself to sink back into his head and slowly spread his awareness out around him. The man on his left, the one that had kicked and spat on him, his grip was tight, but his hand was thin. From what little he’d been able to glance, the man was on the taller side with a slighter build. Wormtail was the opposite of this and yet… his grip was strange, if Ed didn’t know better he would think it was Automail. But no, ignoring that Automail didn’t exist in this world, the shifting and movement was too fluid, the texture of his hand too smooth. Ed didn’t know what to make of it, but he filed it away as a potential challenge.

There was no one around now, two signatures floors below, and the faint hum of a house-elf. The Death Eater’s were too far away to hear now, he just had to find the right moment. When they were turning, or off-balance, or just for one second forgot to hold as tight as like should. Just like… now!

Ed twisted harshly toward Wormtail, tearing himself out of the grip of the other Death Eater. The man gave a shocked gasp as Ed’s hands impacted the floor, one still within Wormtail's shockingly strong grasp.

Familiar blue light leaped across the floor and Wormtail gave a weak cry of fear as the stone slammed into his arm, tearing Ed’s wrist from his hold. He rolled to his feet trying to ignore the way his ears rang and his vision swam with the sudden movement. Wormtail was doubled over and Ed wondered if he'd shattered his arm. The other Death Eater stumbled and drew his wand eyeing Ed warily.

Ed shifted his feet into a fighting stance, his body falling into form with ease. The man raised his wand and Ed charged. He weaved through the spells thrown his way feeling like he was back sparring with Olivia in the pub.

Ed twisted, rolling on the ground, and summoning a spear from the stone. The familiar weight danced through the air, an extension of his arms as he fought to get in close. Wands were most effective in dueling when there was space to breathe and cast. Wizards weren't meant to be brawlers and Ed fulling intended to take advantage of this.

The Death Eater was no slouch though, he clearly knew his way around a fight. As soon as he realized hitting Ed directly was a fool's errand, he began throwing blasting spells at the ground. Ed stumbled between one step and the next as the floor was disrupted and Ed was forced to take defensive actions to protect himself from flying rumble.

It reminded him a bit of fighting Kimblee, highly destructive chaotic battlefields but so much sinister intentionality. Ed clapped and dropped down the ground, attempting to cage the wizard, as a wall of flame sailed over where his head had been only moments before.

His aim, on the other hand, was true, the wall of stone encasing the man in his entirety. He could hear the Death Eater cursing from behind the stone as Ed turned to face his second captor. Wormtail was on his feet again, his robes badly torn from Ed’s initial attack. To Ed’s shock, his right side revealed a great silver hand.

The strength of grasp he had felt earlier was owed to the sinister-looking prosthetic, the whole thing unnatural and reeking of Dark Magic. The man glared at Ed across the room but had yet to attack. His breath was heaving in his chest and his beady eyes skirting around the room as if searching for escape. Ed felt a mild bit of perverse pleasure at the realization that he was taller than the rat face Death Eater.

“We don’t need to fight Wormtail,” Ed called, appealing to the man’s cowardly spirit and giving himself a chance to catch his breath. “I’ll be on my way, and no one ever has to know you let me go,”

The man shook his head, and Ed almost couldn't pull his eyes away from the silver of his hand and the strange way it seemed to catch the light.

“Can’t- I can’t be doing that,” the man sniveled, “My Lord says we’re to dispose of you in the Dungeon, can’t be letting you go,”

Ed gritted his teeth, “I’m very powerful, I can’t imagine it would be too much of a stretch to say I overpowered you,”

Wormtail made a sound just short of a hiss, flashing Ed his yellowing teeth. “My Master would not be forgiving of failure,” Then, as if that was all that needed saying, he attacked. He wasn’t as fast or strategic as the other man had been, but he was far more desperate in his motions. 

Ed dodged out of the way, sending stone spikes hurling toward him which Wormtail blocked with his silver arm. The stone seemed to shatter on contact, the arm moving with a grace disjointed from the rest of the Death Eater’s body. Ed saw then a hint of fear in the man's eye as he glanced towards the offending appendage, and knew that whatever happened, he needed to stay out of grabbing range of that thing.

The fight grew quicker and quicker, as Ed tried to build walls between them only to see them smashed apart. Ed's head pounded, his vision swimming with exertion. He needed to rest, to take a breath, to brace himself against the wall for a moment, his body protesting his every movement.

Ed cursed under his breath as he stumbled. He reached down and sent a transmutation through the stone and sucked himself into the floor. He gasped as he fell, not able to halt the cry that poured out of his mouth as he hit the ground a floor down. He lay there blinking dumbly as he gasped for breath, the eight-foot fall having knocked all the air from his lungs.

Wormtail stared at him from above, his eyes skittering around searching for a way down. Ed noted the little man was clutching at his own silver limb, holding it in a way that made it clear he was as scared of its strange power as Ed was.

He drew his wand, casting a spell wordless and stepping into the hole. Wormtail descended in a controlled manner as Ed stumbled to get to his feet. The wizard grinned cruelly down at him and Ed ran.

Ed didn’t hear the spell coming, but if Wormtail’s previous display meant anything, it was quite possible the man hadn’t said anything at all. He did, however, feel it in the back of his mind, giving Ed just enough time to throw himself to the side to escape the blow. He choked on dust as he staggered down the hall blindly.

“Hoenheim!” Ed swung his head to the side at the sound of the call. Margret Greengrass waved at him from a portrait on the wall, “Follow me!” Ed nodded shakily, erecting a wall behind himself as he raced after her as she jumped from portrait to portrait. 

He only paused for brief moments at a time to block off the passage, stealing materials from the walls. He could hear Wormtail behind him, Silver arm and wand smashing through his barriers after him. But he’d put distance between the two of them, he had something of a lead, he had a-

Ed was knocked to the ground as the ceiling in front of him caved in. He heard a scream of fright as paintings tumbled to the ground. Through the dust, he could see oil painted figures fleeing the scene, Margret nowhere to be seen.

The other Death Eater, the one Ed had sealed up earlier, climbed down the wreckage towards him, robe torn and coated in a thick layer of dust. His mask had been knocked loose, and his pale face was half-covered by a thick waterfall of blood.

“Bastard!” he spat, “Monsterous little fucking little Mudblood! I’ll fucking kill you!  _ Avada Kedavra! _ ”

Ed dove, the curse just missing him by inches. Between the wall he’d erected at his back, the rubble, and the enraged wizard, Ed had nowhere to go. He sent a volley of stone spikes at the man, only to watch a majority of them deflected by a shield charm. Ed cursed his limited materials as he pulled up his own shield to block the spells flying his way. Ed drew in several breaths sharply, psyching himself up for his next move.

He sent a sheet of wall flying, using it as cover as he charged. The wizard, moving to blast the stone apart, left himself open to Ed’s attack, the blonde Alchemist tackling him across the rubble. The man gasped as his head collided with the uneven ground. He scrambled for his wand, but Ed was faster, leaping up and slamming his foot into the man's wrist, shattering it under his boot. The wizard screamed, and Ed brought his foot down again, before dropping down and slamming his hands into the ground and sealing the man up again.

Ed snagged the man’s wand up off the ground and turned just as his last wall was blown apart and Wormtail stumbled his way through looking substantially worse for the wear. Ed could feel himself listing to the side, relying on his automail to remain upright much more than he should have needed to. 

“I will say,” Ed muttered at the man, “you are a much better fighter than people give you credit,”

Wormtail stalked forward not looking half as intimidating as his skills would suggest. “They never do,” the man sneered, “I resurrected the Dark Lord, became an Animagus at fifteen, killed and overpowered Aurors, blew apart muggles, and disappeared without a trace, but nobody ever expects much of Wormtail!” He sent a stunner silently Ed’s way and began to climb the rubble towards him.

Ed blocked with the fallen Death Eater’s wand. But where his own was comfortable, and the Elder Wand was hungry, the short willowy thing in his grip just felt weak and brittle. The shield charm held, but just barely, and it’s weakness granted Ed no time to breathe. 

“ _ Stupify! Confringo!”  _ Ed was forced to duck behind rubble as Wormtail reflected his blasting curse back at him.

Ed dragged in a breath as he listened to Wormtail’s steps along the broken stone, waiting until the man was nearly right on top of him. Ed whipped around brandishing the stolen wand, slashing downward as he would with a sword,  _ “Sectumsempra!”  _ he screamed. 

Wormtail staggered, firing off a shield charm too delayed to do anything but throw Ed back. He pushed himself to his feet, unwilling to leave Wormtail standing, lest the man come after him again. Ed let out a hiss, shocked to find his hand burning. The brittle wand had splintered in his grasp, a large chunk of the wood having burrowed into his palm. Ed opened his shaking hand, letting the pieces fall to the ground and hesitantly extracting the massive splinter.

He heard a curse on the other side of the debris, spurring Ed forward. Wormtail lay on his back bleeding. His wounds were not nearly as deep or as many as when Ed himself had fallen prey to the curse. He supposed that was to be expected with the flimsy thing he’d been using. Expected but disappointing. 

Wormtail was already beginning to push himself upward, and Ed bit back a curse, not enough breath in his lungs to spare. His steps were uneven as he stalked forward, and the pain in his head was making itself well known even through his adrenaline. 

“Stay down,” he gasped out, as he struck Wormtail in the side with his foot, destroying the progress the man had made getting back to his feet. “Stay the fuck down,”

Wormtail whimpered, the confident bravo he’d expressed when he’d had the upper hand all but gone. He held his hands up, half in defense and half in surrender, as Ed moved to his side to bind him to the ground. Ed staggered as he moved into position, dropping to the ground his hands outstretched and already picturing the stone rising up around the Death Eater.

Unfortunately, in his moment of exhaustion, Ed forgot his earlier commitment to staying far outside the range of Wormtail’s silver grasp. Ed gasped as he was slammed into the ground twice, effectively stunning him. The harsh metal fingers crept up his body and clamped down around his throat. 

Panic sent his fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth vice-like grip, but nothing he did was effective. The impossible strength only tightened further on his neck, making it impossible to draw breath. Giving up on breaking the grip, Ed attempted to bring his hands together to transmute, but Wormtail pinned Ed’s right to the ground. Without air, Ed was far too weak to fight him off. He thrashed back and forth on the ground in desperation, hot tears cutting across his face as he choked.

From the corner of his eye, Ed saw something thin and black laying on the floor only inches away. His quill pen, come loose in the struggle. In an act of desperation, Ed grasped for it with his free hand, pulling it into his hand, and with all the strength he could muster, Ed drove it into the side of Wormtail’s face.

The man screamed horribly, releasing Ed as he reached up to hold his face as it gushed blood over the two of them. Ed croaked out pained moans as he crawled away, quill still in hand. Wormtail grabbed his foot howling unintelligible things, and he whirled around again on instinct burying the quill into Wormtail’s eye, the poor writing instrument breaking off still buried in him.

Wormtail moaned, both hands coming up over his face, red slipping out through his fingers. The man just knelt there as Ed backpedaled, drawing breath in as best he could through his damaged throat. Wormtail’s jaw hung slack as his hands fell to his side, revealing the damage Ed had done. For a moment the man hovered, staring half-blind into Ed’s eyes, before what little light was left, fled him, and the man slumped over limp and dead.

Ed shook, unable to get his limbs to move, unable to draw any more than the smallest breath. He sat, half-collapsed against the wall he’d made, his entire world grayed out beyond the sight of Wormtail’s body.

His stomach rebelled, and he wanted to throw up, but it seemed his body didn’t even have the strength for that.

There was movement in front of him. In his struggle he’d failed to notice the approach of others, reinforcements having finally arrived among the chaos. A single figure broke from the rest and came towards him, and Ed allowed his eyes to roam up to the black-robed man.

Severus looked down at him taken aback, and some hysterical part of Ed noted that it was the most emotion he’d ever seen from the Potions Master. He raised his wand slowly, but Ed could find no strength to resist, even as the bright red stunner headed straight for his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter recap: Ed is dragged to the dungeons by Wormtail and another Death Eater whom Ed escapes. All three fight as Ed attempts to get away, culminating in Ed crushing the wrist of the Death Eater, before using Septumsempra on Wormtail. Wormtail manages to grab Ed and the silver hand enchanted by Voldemort begins to strangle him. In an effort to get away, Ed stabs Wormtail in the face and eye with his quill, killing him. Due to his injuries, Ed is unable to escape and Snape stuns him.]
> 
> The end of this chapter was actually one of the first scenes that came to me when I starting writing this series ages ago, so as much as I couldn't wait to write it, it's surreal to have it out in the world now. I hope everyone is doing alright, and again, thank you so much for continuing to read. I defiantly wouldn't have found the energy to keep going with this if it wasn't for all of you.
> 
> \- Pree


	15. Flight in the Night

It was a hand that woke Draco. He shot upright, dragging in a harsh gasp as he attempted to pull away from the hold on his shoulder. 

“Easy son,” a voice called softly, “It’s only me,”

“Ted?” Draco murmured, sleep still filling his eyes, as he pulled away from his uncle.

“Can you get your things together? Only what you need,”

“Can I-? What? What’s going on,” Draco scrubbed his face, turning to plant his feet on the ground. It was still dark outside, the only light in the room flowing in from the street lamp across the way. “What happened?”

Ted hesitated, pulling back so Draco could make out the exhaustion on the older man’s face, “Nothing, but…”

“But what?”

“We need to leave, I need to leave, and Ed-”

Draco shot to his feet, hand closing around his uncle's arm without a second thought, “Ed? What about him? Is he okay?”

Ted sighed, not meeting Draco’s eyes, “I don’t know, but he asked me to take you with me when I left, and I intend to at least give you the option.”

“Why? Why did he ask you to take me?” Draco asked, “And why are you leaving? I thought this place was supposed to be safe,”

Ted hesitated, “I was always leaving, I draw too much attention to Dromeda being muggle-born… and they might leave her alone, but not if she tried to protect me. Ed… and Edward didn’t say why exactly he thought you needed to leave too,”

Draco stared at him coldly, “But you have a theory,”

“Yes son, I have a theory,” Draco felt his hackles raise at his uncle's words, the tone conveying everything Draco feared his answer would.

“When do we leave?”

“Now, as soon as possible,” Ted swallowed, “I have a friend from the ministry, he went into hiding last week, sent me a message to let me know he’d gotten somewhere safe, that we could join him.” The man nodded to himself, “Dirk- that’s his name, Dirk, he lasted longer than plenty of others, was going to forage some paperwork, keep his head down… but Dumbledore’s death spooked him I think. Sent the wife and kids out of the country ages ago… I thought he was being paranoid.”

Ted’s words slid off Draco like water, he thought maybe his ears were ringing, and he felt a bit nauseous as his reality shifted again. He trusted Ed, trusted Ed’s judgment. If he said it was time to run, it was time to run. But he was scared, for himself, for Ed, for… the implications of everything. Draco felt like he was watching the world end with his feet nailed to the ground. He could lean away from the flames, but in the end they would consume him all the same.

“How- how much should I take?”

Ted frowned, “here,” he handed Draco a school bag, rather more raged than his own and patched in several places. “There’s an extension charm on it, I’d bring anything you’d want to keep.” Draco twisted the cloth between his fingers tightly, and nodded, “Frankly, I’m not sure of what happens next, there might be no coming back,” Ted warned.

“I know,”

Ted hesitated for a moment longer, like he wanted to say something more. In the end, he just clapped Draco on the shoulder and left him to pack, warning him to go quickly.

Draco’s limbs felt as if they were submerged in water and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d never truly woken up. He popped open his trunk, putting folded weekend clothing, a spare set of robes, and winter outwear that wasn’t yet necessary into the bag. He dressed himself and tucked his nightclothes away. His school books he set to the side, unable to think of a reason to bring the texts with him.

The bottom of the truck was covered in years of loose objects, broken quills, and improperly stored potions ingredients, and… Draco’s hand closed around the transmitted orb of snakes Ed had formed out of the floorboards of their dorm room. He could think of no logical reason to bring it, but he tucked it into his jacket pocket all the same.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Draco looked back over the room. All at once everything was too overwhelming and he felt his breath catch in his chest, and his heart stutter under his ribs. He caught himself on his bed and lowered his weight onto the covers. He pressed his palms to his eyes and drew in quiet, forcibly even breaths until the growing hum in his ears leveled itself out enough to let him stand.

He made his bed in silence, mimicking the hospital corners of Ed’s abandoned side of the room. Lastly he picked up the other boy’s letter and folded it as small as he could and tucked it into his shoe.

Ted was waiting for him in the living room. His uncle looked him over and nodded towards the door and Draco wavered, “Are we not going to tell…” he trailed off at the look that crossed the older man’s face.

“It’s better this way,” he closed his eyes, “If I don’t tell her, she won’t try and stop me, and if I don’t say goodbye, I have to come back to her.”

For a moment, the only sound to be heard was the clock in the kitchen, then Ted pushed past him and out the door. Draco waited only a moment longer before stepping into the night air beside him.

They waited outside in silence before a muggle car pulled up on the street beside them. The man in the driver's seat rolled down his window and looked them over warily, his eyes resting on Draco for much longer than his uncle.

“Ted,”

“Dirk, everything alright?”

The man nodded, he was scruffy looking with short light brown hair, and dark bags under his eyes, “Should have realized your nephew was a Malfoy,”

Ted closed his hand firmly around Draco’s shoulder, shifting himself in front of him slightly, “Is that going to be a problem?”

“No,” Dirk sighed, and Draco heard the click of the doors unlocking, “just didn’t realize it is all, didn’t think his people would have any need to run,”

Ted directed Draco towards the back, opening the door for him. “Times change,” he said as he climbed in the passenger door.

“That they certainly do,”

They drove for a while in silence, the radio was on faintly in the background, muggle music Draco didn’t recognize. He watched the streetlights as they passed, feeling his eyelids drooping lower and lower, his body remembering that it was still the middle of the night and that he hadn’t managed to sleep well since Ed left. Draco would forget, for moments of time at night, and realize that he couldn’t hear Ed’s breathing. He’d panic, throw off his covers to run to him, and remember again. Once he’d made it all the way to his feet before realizing his mistake.

The fear itself was left from when the other boy had still been comatose, from the persistent anxiety that the magic would fail and Ed would die. He’d stupidly thought that was over, that once Ed was awake there would be no more risk, but now…

Ed had told him to run.

He had to have faith that Ed was going to be okay, that he hadn’t missed something, and hadn’t just let his friend march to his death. He could feel the thick paper of the letter in his boot, rubbing and poking ever so slightly into the side of his foot, and he prayed that it wouldn’t be the last communication the two of them ever had.

Draco drifted off into unconsciousness with Ted and Dirk’s quiet voices filling the empty spaces. He wouldn’t wake again until the sun was well overhead, neighborhoods, and neatly ordered buildings long behind them. Dirk drove them off the main road to a small, one-room cabin that had seen far better days, its path and yard wild and overgrown.

Dirk unlocked the car, and the sound startled Draco back to full awareness, “Here we are then,” the older man grumbled, stretching outside the car.

“You said this place belongs to your wife?” Ted questioned, popping the trunk of the car and pulling out their bags. Draco slowly let himself out as well, wincing as his limbs uncurled themselves.

“Nah, it’s Nicholas’s, Sarah’s brother, their folks left it to them when they died, he was never the outdoors type though, I can’t imagine he even really remembers this place exists,”

“Good for us at least,”

“Aye, at least for a while,”

“A while?” Draco spoke up, “No one knows we’re here, you think we’ll have to leave this place?”

Dirk scoffed, “I’m certain of it, You-Know-Who and his ilk aren’t just going to let us go,”

“But what does he care about us?”

“He doesn’t,” The man hesitated, “well, he might care a bit about you, couldn’t say,” he waved his hand, “that’s not the point though, it’s not about who we are, but what we are, what we represent. Traitors, and Mudbloods- we can’t be seen to get a pass. He has decided that your uncle and I and people like us, are no better than the shit on the bottom of his boot, and what great leader does not provide infrastructure for his nation that they might be rid of shit covered streets?”

Draco sensed Ted a moment before the man settled himself behind him, “Why don’t you run inside Draco, Dirk and I are going to throw up some protections,” he said softly, and Draco took the out he’d been provided.

He wasn’t an idiot, he could feel the way heat had risen to his face as Dirk had spoken, his words just on this side of patronizing, but he wasn’t an idiot. He knew- he knew, what the Dark Lord stood for, he’d grown up his entire life in the shadow of that man and his influence, he just… It was different, seeing it in practice, the realities of what he and his parents had been involved in had only taken on real meaning when he’d faced direct repercussions from it.

It was one thing to stand by his parents, to scoff at Granger, turn up his nose at blood traitors as he’d been taught, but then it had become, kill your teacher, betray your friends. And the worst thing was, he could see how he’d gotten there, how in another universe, he might have gritted his teeth and gone through with it all. Became the monster he was really only now seeing, that was waiting for him, waiting to rip him limb from limb.

Draco let out a shaky breath as he pushed the front door of the cabin in. As he suspected from the road, there was only a single room. There was a small dining table in the corner and an old muggle stove across from it, and across from him were two levels of thick wooden shelves that Draco shuttered at, upon realizing that they were intended to be bunks. With some thought, he settled on the upper bunk on the fall wall so that he could sleep with his back to the wall, facing the cabin door.

Dirk and Ted followed him inside not long, both men claiming the lower bunk. Dirk sleeping directly below Draco, where there had already been a bedroll, and Ted with his head facing the other wall. Draco lay there in silence as the other two caught up on the sleep they had missed. There was a feeling in his gut like he was panicking, but his body was filled with a bone-deep weariness that didn’t allow him to move. Instead he stayed there as anxious tremors overtook him.

He’d felt useless in his aunt's home, but now he was scared that he had become an active hindrance. As much as Draco hated to admit any weakness in life, lest it be exploited, he knew that he was far out of his element here. He didn’t know how to help, and unlike at his aunts, he didn’t even know how to successfully stay out of the way.

He couldn’t help but let his thoughts drift, the sunlight breaking through the windows making it impossible for him to drift off again. He wondered about Andromeda, waking up alone in her house to find himself and Ted gone. He wondered if she would be worried or if she would understand, a dark part of him wondered if she was glad to be rid of him, or if she blamed him for Ted’s choice to leave.

He wondered about Ted too, his Muggleborn uncle, that he couldn’t truly manage to think of as his uncle. The longer he was away, from his family, from other Pure-Bloods, the harder he had justifying his disgust at Mudbloods. And now, having in a way found himself the target of those he had once considered, if not family friends, then allies, it was scary how much things had come into focus. He hated the fear he felt, and the idea that he may have once been responsible for instilling that fear in others.

But he also couldn’t stop. He hated himself because he couldn’t justify the things he thought and said, but he couldn’t stop thinking them. He’d spent what felt like ages now, living in the same house as Ted and he just- Draco’s throat felt tight. 

In the beginning, and hell, not all that long ago, he would leave a room rather than be alone with his uncle. It wasn’t something involuntary, he’d actively thought that Ted was lesser and that he shouldn’t have to put up with the man’s presence. He knew why, knew that he thought those things because that is what he’d been taught-

But that’s where the disconnect was. Because now he could see the faulty logic, he could see that there wasn’t any real substantial difference. His aunt and Ted lived in the same house, in the same life, with the same education and- he still thought those things. He couldn’t stop those thoughts from coming to the forefront of his mind anytime Ted corrected him, or accidentally interrupted him, or came too near to him. He felt an involuntary rush of disapproval anytime he saw the man kiss his aunt- and he knew, he knew! That he made her happy. But Draco couldn’t stop it, and he hated himself for it. So he wondered about Ted, and about what Ted thought of him.

There was no part of Draco that could fathom the man having a good opinion of him, and the more and more he dwelled on it the less and less he could imagine anyone having a good opinion of him at all. He was mean and hateful, from a family of mean and hateful people. The longer he examined any major relationship in his life the more he became convinced it was just for show.

Blaise hated him. Could barely stand him, was only around for the status Draco provided. Pansy and he were engaged- had been engaged, if he survived this mess, if they ever saw each other again he couldn’t imagine she would want anything to do with him. He weighed her down, preventing her from being happy, from being with Lizzy. And Lizzy! Lizzy’s father was a muggle, a muggle that had almost been killed by an event perpetrated by people he had supported.

His stomach dropped as he pictured the abject rage that must have swept over her upon the revelation that he had been working with the Death Eaters. There was a very good chance that if he did survive Voldemort’s wrath she would be waiting for him, and he was fairly certain that he’d didn’t have any grounds to fight her on. He would deserve anything she would do to him.

He could feel his heart in his throat, his breathing shallow and uneven, and his hands fisting in the fabric of his pants. It hurt. It hurt so much and he didn’t know what to do. He could look out, try and picture his future and see absolutely nothing. He couldn’t see a way out, and couldn’t manage to even conceptualize what life would look like if he did. 

He was terrified, of dying, of living, of his family dying, his friends getting hurt, of his friends hurting him, of Ed never coming back, of everything he could still lose. The feelings built and built until he could no longer hold it in. 

He pushed himself over the side of the bunk. His feet hit the ground hard, and Draco could feet the impact in his bones. He hurried toward the door, refusing to look back and see if the loud noise had woken the other men, drowning for want of fresh air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is late, things got a little hectic, and editing this just kept getting pushed further and further back. I hope everyone is still doing well, and thank you as always for reading.


	16. In the Dark

Draco clenched and unclenched his hands around the rail of the steps that led to the cabin, feeling the wood grain underneath his fingertips. His lungs felt ragged and worn like someone had taken sandpaper to them, and his head was pulsing.

Everything around him felt horribly present and oppressive, sending painful waves racing across his skin like it was being burned away. But in the same breath, the world felt distant and unreal. At that moment, Draco was unsure of the reality of anything but the wood under his fingers, and the dirt under his nails.

He couldn’t manage to draw in a decent breath, but the shock of the cooler air was still better than inside. The thought of returning back within the four wooden walls of the cabin made his knees weak and his stomach turn. He curled his shoulders inward, bracing his forehead against the wood, pressing down slowly as if to ease the pain in his head with external pressure.

Somewhere in the treeline, a bird crowed, the harsh sound cutting through the static in his ears.

As if in a dream Draco heard the sound of footsteps behind him, creaking across the small wooden porch.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he whispered softly, the quiet statement alone was enough to steal the breath from his lungs.

“Son…”

Draco tensed suddenly as he realized in an instant, that it was not his uncle that had come out after him. He straightened up, his spine tense and vertical in the way his mother had coached him into, but he couldn’t find the courage to turn around.

“I didn’t mean to come and disturb you,” Drik said, not drawing any nearer, “but you scrambled out of there like a bat out of hell, felt it was only right to check up on you,”

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but it took him several moments to gather the air behind his words, “I’m fine. Thank you,” They were short words, bordering on impolite, rude. He winced, the idea of so quickly disrespecting one of the people he’d been living with for the foreseeable future sent a wave of crippling anxiety to his gut.

“Bullshit,”

“I… I beg your pardon?” Draco responded weakly.

Dirk responded by dropping a hand on Draco’s shoulder and forcing him to take a seat on the topmost step. He folded like a broken doll, finding himself on the ground before he’d managed to form a proper thought.

Dirk moved around him, coming down the steps to squat on the ground in front of him. Draco watched as the older man looked him up and down, no doubt taking in his disheveled appearance and red eyes. He couldn’t stand to be examined as such, his weakness categorized and tucked away, to be used against him at a later date. Draco dropped his gaze to his knees, trying not to tense too much.

“Ted says you’re in some kind of trouble,” Draco didn’t offer a response, didn’t know if Dirk expected one. “And you seem awful scared, so I’m inclined to believe him.” The man paused for a moment, waiting, “You know, my boys, the eldest was a sixth-year when you started attending Hogwarts, and I was led to believe you had quite the mouth on you. You aren’t so much living up to that reputation,”

“Sorry,” Draco croaked out without thinking.

“Christ boy,” Dirk sighed, “This the first you’ve ever had to be scared for yourself?”

Maybe it was the sigh, or the dismissive way Dirk had asked that last question, but Draco couldn’t help himself as a retort burned its way out of his throat, “I am most certainly not scared for myself,” The man’s eyes widened with surprise and Draco felt a wave of shock sweep over him as he realized he’d raised his head back up to meet the man’s words. The momentary confidence he’d felt shuttered and Draco curled back into himself.  _ I may not fear for myself now,  _ he wanted to add,  _ but it’s not like I’ve never had cause to before. _

“You’re serious,” the man said. It wasn’t a question, but there was an inquisitive note to his words, and Draco hated it for the assertion that it made. That he couldn’t care, that he wouldn’t care, that he had no reason to care for others before himself. It hurt, because it was both his deepest fear, that people would see him as heartless and as uncaring as people saw his father, and his dearest wish, that he could simply stop caring and shed the pain that had made its home beside his heart.

“Whatever happens to me, happens to me,” Draco said, “I’m sure I’ve brought the worst of the consequences I’ll face down on myself.”

“Whose death are you scared of then?” Dirk asked, dropping back down into a crouch.

Draco rebelled against the thought and straightened up, pushing himself to his feet, for a brief moment he towered over the man. “Leave me be,”

“Draco-” he brought his hands up placatingly. 

“No!” he shook, from fear, from a wave of nameless anger that swept over him, “It’s none of your business, just leave me be!” He stumbled a little as he turned, and for a second, before he managed to get his feet under himself, he thought he might fall.

Draco hurried away, fleeing back inside the small cabin that only a short while before had threatened to choke him to death. Taking a light step on the lower bunk, he pushed himself up onto the area he had claimed as his own and turned himself to face the wall, painfully aware that there was truly nowhere for him to hide.

“Draco?” his uncle’s voice drifted up from below, his words drenched in sleep, “Is everything alright?”

“It’s fine Ted,” Draco snapped, “just… go back to sleep,” He added more softly, wincing under the weight of his own emotions.

\---

Ed didn’t wake up properly for days. His consciousness was flighty, drifting just out of grasp, drawing him to the surface only to drop him back into unconsciousness moments later. Even in his periods of vague lucidity, his eyes opened to darkness and there were no further stimuli to rouse him.

He thought maybe he remembered people. Potions, and magic sending a rush through his blood as his skin knit itself back together. Faceless men and women, nudging his side with their feet, checking to see if he was still alive.

In his nightmares, the ones that came when he couldn't tell that he was asleep, he saw Wormtail, and Wormtail saw him. The man's blood would flow in rivers from his empty eye socket, covering his face and threatening to drown him. No matter how hard he fought or thrashed, Ed found himself unable to raise his hands to defend himself against the Death Eater.

When he was not skirting on the edge of consciousness though, he was in Amestris. Because the wizarding world had taken on such an odd dream-like quality, the green fields where he’d grown up managed to feel much more real, and at times he felt as if his mind was forgetting where his body lay. The relief they delivered him from his current reality proving to be a powerful anchor.

But even in Amestris, Ed couldn’t manage to hold on for long. Each location he drifted through slipped through his fingers just like the last. He saw Mustang, smoking, a habit he knew Lieutenant Hawkeye hated, on a street corner, gazing up towards Central Command and the offices of the Fuhrer. Rockbell Automail floated by in a haze, granting Ed only the briefest glance at granny as she worked. 

Then the green hills turned to pale brown sand, and Ed watched as a flurry of activity swirled around him. There were workers carrying supplies under the hot sun, and to Ed’s delight, he spotted Al among them, easily taking the load of three men. However, his brother seemed always just out of reach, and Ed was haunted by the feeling that there was someone he should have been trying to seek out.

But despite his wanderings, he never found them.

In the end, though, it was the cold that roused him. A dungeon is always cold, but in late September, when the summer heat begins to give way to the chill of winter, the stones that make up the floors and walls become unforgiving.

The throbbing in his ports drew a groan from his throat as he rolled on to his stomach from his side and pushed himself up painfully to a kneeling position. Ed blinked as he heard the sound of metal scrap across the floor, but all he could do was blink dumbly at the dark. He attempted to move his hands but found them braced by metal bindings fastened around his wrists, holding his hands apart. 

“No,” his breath caught in his throat, and he felt his whole body shudder as he was overtaken by a sense of utter helplessness. “Fuck,” he hissed and attempted to lever himself to his feet. But his automail refused to move as commanded, its range of motion severely limited, and its reaction speed much slower than it was meant to be, “Fuck!” Ed spat, dropping back to the ground.

“Are… are you alright my friend?” Ed jumped as a weak voice drifted in somewhere from his left.

“Who's there?” Ed demanded trying to make out anything in the darkness. “Who are you?”

“Rest easy, my young friends,” the voice said, “I mean you no harm. In fact,” a watery chuckle greeted Ed’s ears, “I’m quite glad to hear you moving about. I’m afraid my time here has made me quiet the pessimist, I was afraid you may have died,”

“No,” Ed said softly, “though not for lack of trying on their part, I feel,”

“They are a vile bunch, these Death Eaters. I blame myself, you know? I feel I should have known, I brought them each together with their wand- but alas! Sometimes…” his voice drifted off then and Ed was struck by a sudden bolt of realization.

“Mr. Ollivander?” He asked breathlessly, “is that you?”

“Oh? Why yes it is my young friend, I had wondered if we’d met,”

“It’s Edward- I’m not sure if you would remember me, sir, Edward Elric,”

Ollivander laughed, “Of course I remember you, Mr. Elric, I remember every wand I’ve ever sold. And yours- well,” Ed could almost feel the smile on the man's lips as he spoke, “How is that loyal Thunderbird wand of yours? Served you well has she?”

Ed felt a painful surge of guilt overcome him as he remembered the sorry state of his wand, left in Dumbledore’s cold hand in an attempt to deceive Voldemort. “I- it saved my life, cast magic without me, but I nearly destroyed it in the process,”

Ollivander hummed, “I see, it does not surprise me though,”

“Really?”

“While you may have needed a more powerful wand to get started, you yourself possess quite the power Mr. Elric- in a moment of desperation so potent your wand would feel the need to step in- well I imagine there was just too much for even it to handle.” He paused for a moment, “Did it break?”

“Like I said, very nearly”

“Thunderbird wands are hardy,” Olivander said, “If it did anything less than shatter… It is possible it could be repaired if handled with the greatest of care,”

“Well, I’ll promise you this then,” Ed said softly, “If we get out of here in more than one piece, I’ll do my best to reunite the two of you,”

“That would be wonderful. I have missed good work… I fear anything I do here, only serves to bring more pain into this world.”

“What… what do they want from you?”

Ollivander hummed, considering for a moment, “He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named has encountered a difficulty of sorts in his quest to killer young Mr. Potter,”

“And he thinks you’d know a way around it?”

“Well, the problem does fall under my area of expertise you see, as I made both their wands, and most importantly, in this case, the wands that I made are brothers,”

Ed nodded in the dark, knowing the man could not see him. He’d heard of such things when he’d studied wandlore in his quest for the Elder Wand. “And what was your recommendation?”

“I could tell him nothing more than that he would need to find a new wand,” Ollivander replied weakly, “I ask you not to think too harshly of me, I wish no ill will on Mr. Potter, I just-”

“It’s alright,” Ed said kindly, “I understand,”

“And you, Mr. Elric? What does He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, want from you?”

Ed hesitated for a moment, unable to find the words. Finally, he settled, “Power,” he said simply.

Ollivander made a small noise in the back of his throat, and Ed could hear the man shifting on the stone, “Then I pray you have a stronger constitution than I, Mr. Elric. For all our sakes,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, this chapter is a bit on the shorter side but I want to make sure I got it out.
> 
> If you happen to be out protesting, please take care of yourselves and be safe ❤️


	17. Words in the Wind

Daily life with the Tonks’ had never been, what Draco would consider, overly exciting. It was largely the same from day to day, with only slight variation in the schedule. In the beginning, in particular, Draco had rarely left Ed’s side, preferring, limited to no interaction with his estranged relatives. As time had gone on, and Draco had begun to move throughout the space more freely he’d developed his own daily routine, centered around well-worn paperbacks and the chores and projects his aunt had set aside for him. Living with Ted and Dirk was in many ways much the same, but in others, wholly and completely different.

They had a routine in the cabin. They cooked and tidied what few possessions they had, Dirk or Ted went out to chop firewood and Draco… drifted. He’d taken to wandering the faint footpaths surrounding the cabin. The type that could only, but by very generous definition, be considered marked, and that he was not at all convinced had been made purposely. They meandered through the trees, winding and twisting with no destination in mind. 

He always found his way back to the cabin eventually. Sometimes, on days when he got so lost in his head that he had a hard time finding his way back out, and the sky had already started to bleed red, Dirk or Ted would be sat on the porch waiting for him.

He didn’t talk much, with either of them, or around the cabin in general. Back at school, Lizzy had been a firm believer that those who could not contribute should remain silent, and while at the time her irritation had meant little to nothing to him, these days he hated even the thought of being obtrusive. 

He was waiting for the day they would realize that he wasn’t worth it. That he didn’t deserve their protection, that his many many sins and prejudices made him deserving of anything that came his way. He wanted the other shoe to drop, for the tension to be over, but he was far too much of a coward to force the issue. Even if only barely, the fear of being alone, trumped the fear of their eventual scorn. 

Ted was a constant, if Draco’s missing tongue bothered him, he said nothing, did nothing. The man was content just to let sleeping dragons lie, and that Draco appreciated. When the time came, he didn’t think the rejection would come from his uncle. It wasn’t Ted’s way. The anxiety and anger he’d only glanced when the two of them had left his aunt behind, had yet to make any sort of reappearance. Ted was solid and dependable and Draco could hardly imagine his uncle ever starting a fight. Dirk on the other hand was something else entirely.

Dirk Casewell was not a man well equipped to be in hiding. He had an energy to him and was restless and loud at times, he talked with his hands and took up space like he was owed it. Dirk was so utterly unlike any adult Draco had known and he didn’t know how to deal with it.

Draco was afraid to be caught off guard by him. Not because he was a schemer, no, Dirk was most certainly not that, but because he was impulsive. If he was going to be turned out one day, it would be by him, and Draco would have no warning.

So he watched himself, he kept his head down, and he tried not to do anything that would inspire action.

It was not that Draco thought Dirk was a bad person, in fact, Draco was quite sure that he was a rather good one. It was that Draco was completely and utterly convinced of his own despicableness. If not bound together through blood and politeness like with his uncle and himself, he couldn’t see how any arrangement could possibly last.

After a few weeks of this, of not venturing out past the woods and no interaction but between the three of them, Dirk resolved himself to go into town. And, for some reason Draco was unaware of, the man resolved to take Draco with him.

Draco was watching from the cabin window as Dirk loaded the car up, unable to think of any reasonable excuse for why he shouldn’t go when Ted’s hand landed on his shoulder. He startled at the contact and whirled around before he could think about it. Ted stood as if he was relaxed but Draco could feel an undercurrent of anxiety in the space between them.

“Is something wrong?” he asked cautiously.

“No, no not at all,” Ted paused, “but there is something I’ve been meaning to give you back,”

Draco frowned, unable to think of anything his uncle could be talking about, “Give me back?”

“Yes,” 

Draco’s eyes were drawn by movement to the long thin box his uncle held, its shape and contents unmistakable.

“Is that- my wand…” Draco brought his hand up cautiously to take the package, and his uncle handed it over easily. “I thought- I though it had been destroyed, or taken away, or-”

“Yes well,” his uncle said, cutting him off. Draco had a distinct impression that the man was uncomfortable, “We always intended to give it back, but there were concerns you might attempt to run away, possibly take Elric away with you,”

Draco didn’t need to ask who they thought he might be running away too.

“You don’t think that anymore?”

His uncle gave a little huff of breath, “Son, we’ve already run away,” Draco nodded and began to step away, thinking that was that, but his attention was pulled back as his uncle rested his hand on the side of Draco’s elbow. “To be clear,” Ted said seriously, making a point to meet Draco’s gaze evenly, “I don’t think you’re like them. I wouldn’t have brought you here if I thought you might be dangerous or turn Dirk or me in. But when you were first with us well-" he sighed, "people who are trapped don’t always make the best choices, and I am not unaware of how trapped you felt when you were first brought to stay with us.”

“I won’t,” Draco said, feeling it was important to reassure, “I wouldn’t give you up, I- won’t do that, but I-” he cut himself off.

“But you don’t know how we could trust you?” Draco nodded, and Ted sighed, squeezing his hand around Draco’s arm before dropping it. “You’re not a bad kid, Draco. You’ve made some bad choices, and spent your life around people who were largely more bad than good, and that has led you to pick up some opinions that are, quite frankly, nasty. But if I thought that the circumstances and prejudices that someone was born into ultimately defined them, then I never would have married your aunt. People can change, and I think you recognize that you certainly have been,”

From outside the cabin, a car horn honked, signaling that Dirk was ready to go.

“Go on,” Ted waved, “best not to keep him waiting,”

Draco nodded numbly and exited the cabin feeling as if he should have said something, but unable to even begin to formulate a response.

\---

Ed lay on the floor, curled up as much as he could to keep himself warm. He didn’t know how long he’d been in the basement of Malfoy Manor, but by counting meals and going off how long Ollivander figured he’d been unconscious, Ed had to guess nearly over a month now.

Ollivander wasn’t bad company, and Ed was very happy that the man was there with him. The old wandmaker had lived for a long time, and seen and done things that Ed, even knowing about magic, still found hard to believe. The story’s helped pass the time, and was sorry he couldn’t share any back. But seeing the toll the dungeon had taken on the older man made Ed wish he was alone. 

He could feel the way the man wilted at the end of the day, and at night Ed could hear a wetness that had begun to creep and cling to the man's breathing.

It had been a month, at least, and nothing had happened. 

Food came to them once a day via masked Death Eater. A silent figure who stood at the entrance of the cells while Ed did his best to maneuver food into his mouth with his bound wrists. The first couple of times, Ed had attempted to hide food away to mark a transmutation circle on the floor, but the Death Eater always vanished away any scraps that were left. 

Then the Death Eater would call him to the front of his cell and drag him down the hall to what could only very generously be considered a bathroom, deposit him, wait five minutes, and drag him back to his cell. The Death Eater would do the same to Ollivander, leave, and they would be plunged into darkness again.

In the beginning, Ed had fought every time, thrashing and pulling, and trying to free himself however he could. But in the end, all that got him was a stunner to the back, and day without food. So now he waited. He knew- he had to believe- that they would pull him out of there eventually. He doubted that whatever they wanted to do to him was good, in fact, he suspected it would involve a fair amount of torture, but a change in routine would be his best opportunity to escape. So he waited.

However, when the routine finally changed, it was not the one he’d been expecting.

She crept into his cell without a sound, and Ed, who had grown attuned to the house’s magic and the feeling of people moving throughout, had no idea she was there until her hand landed itself on his back.

Ed startled and rolled away in the dark, aware of the presence of another person but unable to see them. He kicked out sharply trying to put distance between himself and the stranger.

“Elric,” she said, her voice cutting through the dungeon like a knife, “be still,”

Ed froze, “Narcissa?” he asked quietly into the shadows, “what-”

In defiance of the lack of light, a gloved hand closed over his mouth. Ed could hear Ollivander stir and let out a small cough as he readjusted himself on the stone floor. Slowly the witch removed her hand, the fine fabric scraping along his jaw.

“You know where he is, don’t you?”

Ed hesitated, “Who?” in the silence he could feel her anger.

“I can help you,” Narcissa said, and Ed could feel the ghost of her warm breath against his face. “but if you lie to me, I promise any pain you endure will be two-fold,” her voice dropped low and dark, “Where is my son?”

Ed opened and closed his mouth, “Are you sure you want to know?”

“Are you insulting me?”

Ed shook his head, “No, but telling you means one more mind for the Dark Lord to pull that information out of,”

She was silent, and Ed could feel the war going on inside her. The desperate need to protect her son at war with her need for reassurance that he was alright. “Is he safe,”

“Yes,”

“Are you sure?” she demanded.

“As safe as can be expected,” Ed shot back, not even trying to bite back the edge of cruelty to his words, the blame.

“Does he- does he know the danger he’s in?”

“He does,” Ed frowned, knowing that she couldn’t see it, “But he’s worried about you. I think he’s more worried about how his actions will come back on you than he is about the potential repercussions on himself,”

Ed could hear the swish of her robes as she pulled away angrily, “Foolish boy!”

“Fuck you,” he spat and Narcissa froze.

“What did you say to me?”

“I said fuck you.” Ed hissed, “He cares for you so goddamn much, cares for you far more than you deserve, and you have the fucking gall to throw that backing into his face like that?”

“I would watch your tongue, Alchemist,” her voice was stepped in anger and Ed heard her take a few steps forward.

“No!” Ed staggered his way to his feet to face her best he could. “He's trying so hard to do right by you, but you and your goddamn ‘parenting’ have put him in such an impossible position- and then you stand here? and tell me, that it is my friend's fault that his world is crashing down around him? You have bound him so tightly to your own sins, and I am scared to death that your actions are going to strangle him!”

“If you fear his trajectory so much, then why have you bound yourself to him too,” Narcissa responded coldly.

“Because, you know what a reasonable person does when they see someone drowning? They grab them and pull them out,”

For a moment silence reigned throughout the dungeon, the only disturbances the soft breathing of Ollivander. Then Ed heard the cell door swing shut, and he felt a punch to his gut at the realization that he had just passed over a chance to escape.

“You may not believe me, Elric, but I care about my son more than anything in my life, and there is very little that I wish for more, than seeing him escape this nightmare. But I am not a dreamer, for all you may wish to save him from drowning, from where I stand, you are the one with your head below water, and I am down there with you,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've started working full time helping to approve local COVID-19 business grants and that has proceeded to eat all of my time. Now that I know my schedule, I should be able to fit writing in better, but I appreciate all of your patience with me so so much in getting these chapters out.
> 
> Stay Safe!


	18. Into Town

The town was nothing particularly exciting. It was small, the kind of place that was little more than a stop on the way to a greater destination. There was a single shop at the end of the main street, and several small vendors selling what Draco assumed to be homemade items, the rest of the town seemed to be made of nothing but small one-story houses, and nowhere could Draco see any signage that would tell him the name of the place.

Dirk parked them along the street to the left of the store and turned to face him. “Ready to go?”

A crow landed on the car in front of them, letting out a gargled caw. He’d never been the best Divination student, but the bird's appearance didn’t seem to be exactly a good omen. “Sure,” he responded, his eyes never leaving the animal.

Dirk chuckled a little, the sound catching him off guard a bit. “You superstitious Malfoy?”

“No,” Draco frowned, “I’ve learned not to tempt fate though,”

“Not a bad policy,” Dirk granted him, “However I’d argue crows aren’t nearly as bad as the wrap they get. They’re a bit more neutrals then their detractors would have out,”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, they’re grave birds, right? So the jump to death omen isn’t the biggest leap in the world, but what most people in the world miss is that harbingers aren’t just for bad news.” As he spoke, Drik moved his hands as if to paint a picture in the air between the two of them, “All they do is mark the passage of time, our transition from one part of life to another. Our winged friend there is not banshee,” He smiled, and despite himself, Draco felt weirdly comforted by the man’s rambling.

“Are you suspicious Cresswell?” he asked, parroting back the man’s earlier question almost without a second thought. 

Dirk’s lips twitched into a smile, he didn’t seem put off by Draco’s familiarness, but all the same, his face was almost sad. “No,” he said softly, “But one of my boys, Connor, went through a phase a few years back. He couldn’t wait to go to school, and the thought of his big brother not paying full attention- actually complaining about a class mortified him. Connor wanted to show him it was interesting, so he would take full advantage of the opportunity.”

“Did he like Divination? I mean when he had to actually take the class?” Draco had a hard time imagining anyone enjoying class in that stuffy moth infested tower.

“No, uh,” Dirk cleared his throat, “This was meant to be his first year. My wife and I, we’re both muggleborn. As soon as we saw where things were heading, she took the boys out of the country, I thought I had more time to get my things in order so I could join them, but…” He trailed off.

“It’s good that they’re safe,” Draco offered, unsure of what else he could say, and all together sorry for turning the conversation to this topic.

“Yeah,” Dirk nodded, “I just hope I get the chance to make it up to him.” He hesitated, as if unsure if he should continue. In the end, it seemed he couldn’t keep the words from spilling out. “The last time I saw him we fought. He was mad, furious in that way eleven-year-olds can get,” There was love in his voice even as it was clear the words pained him, “He told me he hated me, that I was ruining his life.” he swallowed, “I’d be perfectly happy for him to think that for the rest of his life, to never know that there were people out there that hated him so much that they would hurt him for just being born.”

And that was. Dirk straightened up and pushed the car door open and climbed out onto the street, fleeing the heavy air of the car. Draco watched him draw in a couple breaths, slow and steady before he too pushed open his door to join him.

Draco had to admit that the process of stepping out of the car and into the clear view of strangers was daunting after spending so long in relative isolation. They received a couple of odd looks from the few people out on the street, but they seemed based in curiosity and not hostility, allowing Draco to relax the tension he was holding in his shoulders.

Within his pocket, he ran his fingers up and down over the familiar grooves and bumps of his wand. It was comforting to have it back within his grasp, to hold the ability to fight back in his hands, but in the same breath, he found that having been given the ability to actually do something came with its own brand of paralyzing fear.

Dirk walked into the shop, nodding pleasantly at a woman as she passed, her arms full of groceries. It was clear that he had been raised among Muggles as he held none of the same hesitation and trepidation that Draco felt. Dirk seemed entirely in his element. 

As they entered the fluorescently lit building, Dirk passed him a paper list, however, as he glanced down to read it over, the older man walked away in the other direction. Draco froze and had to bite back the childish desire to call after him. The thought of doing something, even something as simple as this, alone was… nerve-wracking. 

He never used to mind being alone, in fact, once upon a time he’d found relief and comfort in it. These days though, he could hardly remember the last time he was truly alone. Even on the walks he would take in the woods surrounding the cabin, he was wholly aware of his proximity to others.

In the end, he was only spurred to movement as a man attempted to enter the store behind him.

The brightness of the lights and the signage, mixed with the sterility of the layout was completely alien to him, and it made his skin crawl unexpectedly as he moved down the first row he could see. It was a far cry from the darker more cramped shops he was used to shopping at alone, and when living at the family manor- well, Draco wasn’t sure he’d ever actually considered who brought the food in. It was just there when he needed it.

Draco could feel his irritation rising at himself. It was such a stupid thing to find offputting, not too long ago he’d been preparing to kill a man, and now he was overwhelmed by the fucking groceries. He was perfectly capable of this.

Draco wrapped himself in his indignation and looked back to his list. It was a simple task and he would not be found lacking. He ran his eyes over the shelving, biting back the rising feeling in his gut at the sight of all the choices, all the different names for what he could only assume were the same product. He glanced at the prices and again found himself at a loss, having no experience with Muggle money, he was unable to say what among them was expensive.

Refusing to become overwhelmed again Draco chose at random, snagging a brown bag of flour off the shelf. Quickly realizing his mistake, Draco headed back to the main door and grabbed a basket for himself, his shirt dusted with a fine layer of white that had slipped out from the folds in the paper. Gritting his teeth he went looking for his next item, methodically combing each row for lack of a better understanding as to how things were organized.

Draco was nearing the halfway point of his list when it happened. He was backtracking a bit, returning to an aisle he remembered containing pasta, when he took a corner too fast and without looking and crashed into another shopper.

He let out a low hiss as he hit the corner of the shelving with his shoulder, knocking a jar of something onto the floor where it shattered. Draco’s gaze shot up from the mess to the other patron, half-formed platitudes already on his lips. 

He froze. The other boy froze too, and they both reached for their wands at the same time. Draco was vaguely aware of his basket landing on the ground in his hurry to put more space between the two of them. His brain was reeling from the sudden change, the sudden tension that had overtaken him in a matter of seconds.

Dean Thomas looked at him warily, his eyes darting around as if he expected others to appear around them.

Draco watched the Gryffindor in turn, taking in the other teenager, taking note of the way he stood, the bag over his shoulder, and how the muggle clothing he wore seemed… stale. Not visibly dirty, but as if he hadn’t had the time or opportunity to clean them with anything other than magic.

“Leave me be Malfoy,” Dean said in warning, and Draco could see the way he was tensing, he recognized it as the way Ed got before a fight. 

“Why are you here?” he couldn’t help but ask, the presence of anything magical among the distilled muggle-ness of the shop seemed jarring and horribly out of place.

“Why am I here?” Dean laughed, his voice strained and audibly holding back fear, “The fuck are you doing here Malfoy?” He was agitated again, his eyes scanning the space, looking for an escape.

A thought suddenly dawned on Draco, and he kicked himself for not realizing it sooner, “You’re a Muggleborn,”

“No shit Sherlock,” he spat, “You conveniently forget that, after six years of you and your housemates giving me hell for it?” Dean pulled a face, “What the fuck is this? You gonna let me pass or are we gonna have a problem? You planning on turning me in for a pat on the back from daddy? ”

“I-”

“Turn you in?” Draco froze, distracted by their confrontation, he had missed Dirk coming up behind his classmate, “what’s going on?” Dean whirled around, his eyes wide, and turned his wand on the man, “Easy,” Dirk said raising his hands up, “Neither of us are going to do anything, kid,”

“Who are you?” Dean asked. Over the other boy's head, Draco could see Dirk attempting to get him to put his wand away. Draco couldn’t quite manage it.

“Dirk Cresswell, former, I’m sure, head of the Goblin Liaison Office. And who are you? You seem to be… acquainted with Draco, so I’m assuming you’re at least a Hogwarts student?”

Dean wavered, “You’re… not here for me?”

“Can’t say we are,” Dirk said. His words were light but they carried with them a comforting tone that Draco was not expecting, “I’m just here to get food, and Draco’s here because I made him come.” After a moment Dirk added, “I’m a Muggleborn too, so is Draco’s uncle, and Draco’s here-”

“He’s a Death Eater,” Dean cut in, and Draco could feel his stomach roll, “He tried to kill Dumbledore last year, him and that Elric-”

“-Ed didn’t-”

“-Not the time Draco,” Dirk silenced both of them. “Yeah he did, and I can’t say I’m all too pleased about that either, but things have changed, and now he’s in just as much danger from You-Know-Who as either of us. But right now, the most important thing is, he’s not going to turn anyone in,”

“You don’t know that!” Dean insisted, “I’ve known him for years! You cannot trust him,”

“I can,” Dirk said, not raising his voice, “But I understand if you can’t,”

Draco wanted to protest but couldn’t find the strength to do so. He didn’t blame Dean, he understood why the other boy could believe that he’d changed. Draco had a hard enough time trusting himself these days.

“Draco,” Dirk said, drawing his attention back to the present moment, “go wait for me in the car,” He nodded, giving in to his impulses to flee. 

The outside air felt cold in his lungs, everything just a bit too sharp and bright. Like the oversaturated advertisements from the shop had seeped out into the real world. He swung himself into the passenger seat of the car and attempted to draw in deep even breaths, his hands balling around the edges of his seat.

He wasn’t sure how long he waited for Dirk, time passed oddly when he sunk too far into his head and let his thoughts get too loud. But some time later he was jerked out of his head as the other man slid into the seat beside him and buckled himself in.

They just sat there for a moment, breathing, not saying a word to each other, until Draco couldn’t take it any longer.

“What happened? With Dean I mean,” he clarified needlessly.

“We talked,”

“About what?”

Dirk drew in a breath, “Where he was staying, if he was safe, if he had enough food,”

“And?” he asked hesitantly, not really sure why he was asking, if he had any real right to know.

“He wouldn’t say where he was staying, not that I blame him. Says he has enough money for the thing he needs. Don’t worry, now that your uncle and I know he’s there, we’ll keep an eye out for him. People have to stick together these days.”

They were silent again. 

“He’s afraid of me, isn’t he?”

Dirk only nodded. “You haven't heard, we try not to listen in more than we have too, but the news coming over the radio… it’s not good.”

Draco felt fear rise in his throat, “What happened?”

“The ministry has… put out an official policy related to Muggleborns. It’s now the opinion of the government that unless you can prove past magical heritage, then you’re a muggle who has stolen the magic of a legitimate witch or wizard.” Dirk sighed, “There isn’t the lick a proof to go along with it, not that it matters. But they are scary words, and the reward for turning people in is enticing, especially in the face of the punishment for not.”

“They’re going to come for us, aren’t they?”

“Yeah kid, eventually,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dog says hello. She would also like me to stop typing so that I may either pet her, or allow her to chew on my wrist in peace.


	19. Olivia

Ed was certain that he had not been left alone as much as it appeared. The routine was the same, the Death Eater would come, he would eat, be pulled from his cell, and then returned to the darkness. And yet, he knew he was being watched even when his captors failed to present themselves. 

Someone was paying attention, and Ed couldn’t tell what they wanted. He thought it would actually be easier if he knew the watcher wanted to hurt him, at least then he would know where he stood. But these eyes… all they seemed to do was watch.

He’ wasn't sure when he'd first started noticing, in fact oftentimes he didn’t notice them at all until the presence was gone. There was no rhyme or reason to it either, sometimes they were there, and sometimes for days at a time, they were not.

He’d asked Olivander once, but the old man had no answers for him, and Ed just let him rest, able to feel the way his magic seemed just a little dimmer these days. They didn’t talk often anymore, not for long periods of time. As much as it was a horrible comfort to have another person down there with him, there really only was so much to talk about. Only so much he could say that wouldn't hurt if it was overheard.

It was almost a relief then the day the Death Eaters came to get him.   
He’d tried to keep active, as active as one could in a cell, but the food provided just didn’t give him enough energy to do much more than wander along the edges of the space. So, when they came for him, he had no energy to fight. He thrashed a little, pulled in their hands, but even those little shows of resistance left him winded.

And maybe, Ed thought, that is what they had been waiting for.

As the heavy door leading out of the dungeons clanged open to let him out for the first time in a long time, Ed could hear the faint sound of words from Olivander’s cell. He wondered if the man was praying for him.

The light outside the cells seemed impossible bright, he squinted his eyes painfully tight against the glow. He blinked slowly, trying to force his eyes to adjust, trying to see what was going to happen to him. He… he knew what was going to happen, but it was important to him somehow that he could see it coming.

On that first day, they didn’t even ask him anything. Not a single question.

Ed could remember when he was younger, probably a month or so after joining the military, he’d seen a State Alchemist get impaled. He’d been touring one of the labs with the Colonel, visiting someone Havoc had called “Mustang’s war buddy” to see an alchemical experiment- he’d been excited to see it, he remembered that much, but the actual details of the experiment had long since faded. But he remembered that it had gone wrong. 

They’d been standing there watching and then- 

He remembered Mustang crouched over top of him, his gloved hands on either side of Ed’s head, holding him in place, demanding to know if he was hurt, if he could hear him, if his spine was okay. Ed remembered assuring him that he wasn't, that he could, that he was fine. Mustang bracing him, getting him up carefully, his ears still ringing and seeing-

The Alchemist had just been standing there, burned. Some of his skin was blackened, and in his gut was buried what Ed assumed had once been part of the table.

Mustang had pulled him away, pushed him out of the room past the swarming lab personal and out onto the street. He’d kept a hand of the back of Ed’s neck all the way back to his office. The Colonel’s grip had been tight, and Ed’s skin had been red after, he remembered that.

But none of that- every moment, every memory of that day was faded and grey in contrast to the imagine imprinted in his brain of the Alchemist’s face. He’d looked… unconcerned. Like he was injured, but he wasn’t… hurt.

Ed had never asked about the fate of the Alchemist, he didn’t need to, but weeks later he’d asked Havoc about the Alchemist’s face.

“Well,” Havoc had said as he lit a cigarette almost reflexively. It was after work and the streets were dark and mostly deserted, “It could have been Shock, Shock is a powerful thing, chief. That could easily be it.”

He remembers frowning at the other man, “But you don’t think that’s what it was, do you?”

Havoc had been silent for a moment, and Ed had waited for the other man to speak again. He’d needed to know this, he wasn’t sure why, but it’d felt important, necessary. 

In the end, Havoc had broken his own silence. “Sometimes, when people feel a lot of pain, for a long time, or horrible pain for a little while, things get twisted around in their head, things get shifted. Now that you’ve felt that, other pain, lesser pain it just doesn’t… seem to hurt as bad anymore, because all your brain can do is compare it to the worst pain you’ve ever felt.”

Ed had started to notice it then, in himself, in Mustang, in Hawkeye... 

When the Death Eater’s deposited Ed back in his cell, done with him. He couldn’t help but wonder what that meant for him now. He wondered if all the pain, the agony, if it would help for next time. 

It didn’t.

\---

It took a week for Draco to sneak away into town. Even as he was doing it, he wasn’t sure why he was going. Dean didn’t want to see him, didn’t want anything to do with him. They weren’t friends, they had never even been cordial enough to consider each other acquaintances. But still, the thought of Dean just… going it alone? It made his gut roll uncomfortably. It felt like it was his fault.

The intentional out of the way-ness of the cabin made it a bit of a walk, and by the time the road Draco was walking gave way to neatly maintained sidewalks, his feet ached and he could feel his heart beating against his rib cage. It was only then that he realized that he really didn’t know where to go from there. He didn’t know where Dean was staying and well, he didn’t even know if Dean was still around. It was very possible that he’d split as soon as he’d seen them.

Draco felt stupid standing on the street corner averting his eyes as Muggles past by, minding their own business and going about their day. The town felt unreal again like the store had when Dirk and he had pulled up. The slice of normality, even if it was muggle normality felt wrong and out of place. As if it couldn’t exist within the same world as the stress and fear that weighed him down.

Draco was about to admit defeat and go back the way he came when a familiar loud crack echoed through the alley to the side of him. His hair stood on end and he felt his fingers find the familiar groves in his wand. His breathing slowed, and he could feel his pulse start to pound. 

He had no evidence that whoever apparated into that alley was in the town for him, but at that moment he could think of no better explanation. He tensed, ready, feeling the adrenaline build.

Footsteps.

The wizard that stroud from the alley was no Death Eater. He was short and red-faced, starting to bald and utterly unaware of his surroundings. The man radiated irritation and walked as if he had places to go, but was frustrated that he had to put in the effort. 

And Draco, struck by a spark of curiosity that overrode all good sense, followed behind him.

He kept his distance, his wariness of the situation had not totally vanished, but the longer he walked the more he wanted to know where the wizard was heading. The town really was the most muggle place Draco had ever seen and he could hardly imagine anything there that would entice anyone from the magical community to surface. What of interest could possibly be hiding among the neat streets and pastel shop fronts?

It was hard to strike a balance between close enough to follow and far enough back that the man wouldn’t see him. Luckily for Draco, for all his bluster, it seemed as if the strange wizard had never actually been here before, and on multiple occasions was forced to backtrack after taking an apparent wrong turn. 

A cold breeze began to pick up, sending leaves and small pieces of trash fluttering around his ankles, and the edges of his hair into his face. However, the man kept forward turning down streets and alleys, undeterred by the fact that they had all but left the town center behind. He had taken to grumbling under his breath somewhat though his posture had changed. Despite his apparent frustration, he seemed more sure of his heading than ever before. 

At last, the man came to a stop before a run-down building of red brick, the front dotted with several broken windows and yellowing moss. Draco was at this point thoroughly confused, but the wizard reacted with delight, throwing his hands above his head. 

Then, to Draco’s complete confusion, he rounded the corner of the building and disappeared. 

Draco's feet picked up the pace until he was nearly at a run, scanning the blank wall for any indication of where he could have gone. There was nothing. He scanned the building, his eyes darting over every inch, again and again until-

Draco froze, he could feel a faint tingle in the back of his neck. 

He moved his eyes back over the brick slowly until- There! Despite his best efforts, there was a part of the wall that his eyes refused to focus on, his gaze sliding off it as if it was made of ice. And the more he became aware that something was wrong, the more he could almost see something there.

Carefully Draco stretched out his hand and found his fingers wrapping themselves around a door handle. Taking a deep breath in, he pulled, and just like that it was like there had never been an illusion in the first place.

Inside was a pub. Neat and warm, it’s bar staffed by a large man and a young woman with curly black hair, a sign above their heads reading, “The Dancing Mule”. It was not an overly busy place by any means, a couple of patrons dotted around, keeping to themselves. The short wizard from earlier seemed rather out of place, uncomfortable as if he hadn’t gotten what he’d expected when he opened the door.

No one was looking at him, but Draco felt very out of place like he’d accidentally strolled into the middle of a private party. He reached up and brushed a strand of hair out of his face, and as he moved his hand away, he realized he’d locked eyes with the black-haired bartender. 

She turned and murmured something to her partner and slipped around the side of the bar, making her way towards him. Draco fought the urge to flee outright as he took a couple steps back towards the door.

She caught him. Not physically, she didn’t grab him or anything it was just- when she looked at him he froze. He felt like he was being picked apart, like standing before Lizzy before she told you something about yourself that she couldn’t possibly know.

“Why are you here?” She asked. Her voice surprised him, it didn’t carry the accusation he was expecting.

“I-” He shook his head, “it was an accident, I didn’t even know this place existed,”

She hummed, “How’d you find us?”

Draco felt himself get a little red. There really was no good way to admit that you’d stalked a strange man halfway across a town, you too, had no place being. “The man, that man-” Draco nodded over at the short wizard, “I saw him disappear into a wall, I didn’t mean-”

She cut him off with a wave of her hand, and like that the heavy tension in the air vanished. “Doesn’t matter, are you hungry?”

Draco blinked, the sudden change in topic knocked his feet out from under him. Unsure of how to a respond he only managed to stumble out the words, “I don’t have any money on me,”

She seemed to think this was almost funny, her lips twitching upward into what could almost be called a smirk. “Come on,” She started walking away, “this one’s on me,”

Draco hurried to catch up. While a part of him still wanted to turn and hurry back to the cabin, a larger part of him missed being submerged in magic, breathing in all that tangible energy. She deposited him in a booth along the wall and dropped a menu in front of him, before assuring him she’d be back.

The angle of the table meant that he was hidden in large part from the rest of the bar, but it also prevented him from seeing the going ons and left him feeling very blind. Without anything better to do he read over the short menu for something that good, and the second his order seemed to fully form in his head, the bartender was back. She took his order and his menu and again Draco was alone.

This didn’t feel like a community, the secret wizarding side of town that some muggle cities had. No, the pub felt like truly its own entity, it wasn’t a part of the city, in fact, it felt like just as much of a stranger to the place as Draco was. Something about it felt like it could disappear in a moment, vanish like it was never there.

It struck Draco then, that he still didn’t know what this place was. Of course, he could recognize a pub as a pub, but why hide it? There seemed to be no rhyme or reason for a business to go out of its way to try and hide itself. In fact, that seemed to run entirely counter to the model of how a business was intended to be run.

So frustrated by this he was, that the second his food hit the space in front of him he couldn’t help but growl out a disgruntled, “What even is the point of this place?”.

The bartender stared at him for a moment and slid into the booth across from him. “Why are you here in Stanmore?”

“Stanmore?”

“The town. Why are you here, in Stanmore, and not away at Hogwarts?”

Draco started to refuse to answer, to insist that she not deflect from his question, when he suddenly realized she wasn’t. Why was he there? To hide. What was the purpose of a hidden pub? To hide.

A quiet, “Oh,” slipped through his lips and she nodded.

“Oh indeed.” She smiled and offered him her hand, “I’m Olivia Ridley,”

Draco took the offered hand slowly, “I’m- Ed,” He winced a little at how uneven his voice sounded.

Olivia laughed a little, a gave his hand a light squeeze, “I’m not that much older than you,” she said, “I know who you are Draco Malfoy,”

He froze, “I-”

“You’re a little bit older, your hair is a bit longer, and from what I can remember of your disposition as a thirteen-year-old, you’ve grown up quite a bit.” She grinned as if to deliver a sort of punchline, squeezing the hand of his she still held, “Also, I can tell when people lie to me." Draco sputtered a little but her gaze only seemed to grow in intensity, "Now, why don't you tell me about this Ed character you were pretending to be?"


	20. Personal Reckoning

Draco pulled back sharply out of her grasp, “I-” the words tangled in his throat and he couldn’t seem to force any words past his lips.

“Here,” she leaned back, slouching against the booth and crossing her arms across her front. “I’ll start. Ed is… a classmate of yours?” Her words went up like it was a question, but he could see in her eyes that it was not.

“He is none of your business,” Draco snapped, pushing himself to his feet sharply. He needed to leave. This wasn’t safe. What was he even doing, thinking he could walk out into the open like this?

“Wait. Draco,” She sighed, and straightened, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “Edward Elric, right? That’s Ed,  _ the _ Ed.”

“How could you possibly-”

“He’s a friend.”

“A friend?” Draco responded incredulously, “I’ve never even heard of you,”

She laughed, a real genuine head back, mouth open laugh, and that more than anything caught Draco completely wrong-footed. “Oh,” She said as if she’d come to some great revelation, “The two of you were real good friends then.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, “yes we were- are,”

“That’s fucking adorable,”

“Excuse me?” Draco sputtered, “Who are you exactly? How on earth do you know Edward?”

“Edward,” she said his name like it was funny, rolling all the sounds around in her mouth, “The bar,” she finally said with a little bob of her head, “It was in St. Andrews before it was here in Stanmore. Well,” she acquiesced, “It was a few stops before Stanmore, we don’t stay in one place for very long these days,”

“I don’t understand, what does that have to do with anything?”

Olivia’s brow furrowed as she watched him, “St. Andrews is his home, Ed’s home. He probably spent half of the last summer sitting at that one table over there,” she gestured with her chin. “Did you not know that?”

There was a clamminess creeping over his skin and bleeding into his bones as he sat there across from her, his food untouched. “No,” he said, his voice a weak flimsy thing, “I didn’t,” 

He knew that Ed had lived in St. Andrews, or at least had claimed too. His letter, the letter, had established this as a lie, or at least Draco had assumed it had. Now though, he realized there must have been some truth in it. Of course, Ed had to have had some form of permanent residence in this word, Draco's own father had sent him letters.

She seemed almost concerned, he realized distantly, as she reached back across the table and took his hand again. “I suppose he’s not the most open person in the world,” Her words were comforting, but there was just this edge to them- maybe it was the way her grip seemed to tighten or maybe it was the way her eyes seemed to skate across his body that cued him into her panic. He knew what question she wanted to ask, the one, that for all her boldness, she couldn’t seem to force out.

“I don’t know where he is,” he said softly. Draco heard her breath catch and even out. Each inhale and exhale perfectly spaced and unnatural in their smoothness.

“Is he safe?”

Draco could only shake his head, heat building behind his eyes, “I don’t think so,” he said softly.

She closed her eyes, and on the back of his neck Draco could feel the steady gaze of the other bartender. “That stupid boy,” she murmured, “I knew something like this would happen,”

“What?” this time it was Draco’s turn to tighten his grasp, “How? Did he say anything to you?”

She shook her head, “No, no, but he- I knew that-” Olivia leaned back sharply and let out a quiet curse. “What were the two of you doing, at the end of last school year?”

“That’s not-”

“It is relevant, it is relevant Malfoy- because I know Ed, and he is not a Death Eater. I went to Diagon Alley with him before the year began and we _ fought  _ Death Eaters. So it is very relevant to me that I know what is going on.”

“I-” Draco’s jaw flapped uselessly, her eyes were fixed on his, looking less warm by the second. He couldn’t lie, that’s what she said, and he knew in his gut that was true. “He was helping me,” he forced out. “It was punishment, for my parents, for me, for failing  _ him-  _ The Dark Lord-” he could feel his breaths getting thinner and he struggled to keep his volume down. “I don’t know why he was helping me. He never said.”

“He never gave you a reason?”

“Not a real one,”

“A fake one then,”

Draco frowned, his face twisted, Ed’s words just sounded so silly and childish in his head, “He said it was because he was my friend, because friends look out for each other. But that’s not enough of a reason for him to do as much for me as he did,”

She looked at him for a long moment, not blinking. He wasn’t sure what she was doing, if she was waiting, and if she was, for what. Then a large shadow fell over the both of them. The man from behind the bar caught their attention and nodded towards the open hallway across the room. Standing there, looking exactly the same as he had last time Draco had seen him, was Dean Thomas.

Draco straightened, his blood felt like a live wire as they made eye contact across the room. Dean watched him with distrustful eyes, and Draco could see by the way he was resting his hand, that he was ready to pull his wand at any moment.

Olivia raised a hand and waved him over with a flick of her wrist, and after only a moment’s hesitation, he complied.

Instead of joining them at the table, Dean stood at the end, intentionally or not, boxing Draco in. “What?” he said, his voice holding that same cold wariness as before, “What are you doing here Malfoy?”

“Nothing,”

“Yeah?” His voice rose harshly prompting Olivia to reach out and take hold of his arm. She wasn’t retraining him, and Draco knew that if Dean saw fit to escalate things her grasp would do very little. Regardless of this, her presence seemed to halt any escalation, and instead, the two of them just stared at each other.

“I’m not here for you,” Draco said. Across the table, Olivia raised a brow and Draco had to fight back a wince. “I mean, I am, I was looking for you- but I’m not here, I didn’t know you were here when I came in,”

“Yeah? And why were you looking for me?”

“I-” Draco faltered. He didn’t have a good answer for that. There was no good way to say ‘I feel guilty’ ‘I’m sorry I treated you like shit’ ‘they’re coming after me too’ in a way that actually explained why he’d wandered into town looking for the other boy. There just wasn’t. “I don’t know,”

This time Olivia gave no sign of disbelief.

“That man you were with earlier, Dirk, he said the Death Eaters want to kill you,”

It wasn’t a question but Draco felt compelled to answer none the less. “I don’t know if they want to kill me.” He shook his head, “I mean, they will, eventually. But I think right now they just want to make things hurt.”

“Yeah, and why’s that? Last I saw you were all buddy-buddy with their lot,”

Draco winced, “You don’t, you don’t fail the Dark Lord,” he said, “And I… did that,”

“So it’s true then, you and Elric, you were trying to kill Dumbledore,”

Olivia tensed. Draco had been watching her out of the corner of his eye, wondering what the point of this was, wondering what she got out of this. It was obvious now though. She hadn’t known enough, and she needed Dean there to check him, to serve as another witness to confirm the things he said. She might have been able to tell when he was lying, but she didn’t know enough of the right questions to get to the truth.

This wasn’t professional, a matter of security like her earlier interrogation was. This was personal. It would seem she really was a friend of Ed’s, but, unfortunately, it also seemed that she didn’t know much more than he did.

“I was trying to kill Dumbledore,” Draco finally responded. “Ed was trying to keep me from getting killed. The Dark Lord was already interested in him, for his abilities, it wasn’t hard for him to insert himself in the mess,”

“And then you fucked it up,”

Draco winced at Deans' bluntness. It hurt, but it was the truth. That was exactly what he’d done. “Yeah, I couldn’t do it.” Draco swallowed harshly and looked up to meet Olivia’s eyes as he spoke, “Rowle, he’s Death Eater, he started torturing Ed, to… motivate me. It- Dumbledore got mad, and I don’t even really know what happened next. Potter was there,” Draco nodded at Dean, “and Ed was in a coma.”

“And you don’t know where he is,” Olivia said, her voice pointed, even though she already knew the answer to her question.

“No.” Draco gave a weak shrug, “I woke up one morning, and he was gone. Not long after that, my uncle got me in the middle of the night… and we’ve been here ever since.” He paused, choosing his words carefully through even breaths, “I don’t know what Ed’s doing, but he’s not working for the Dark Lord. Whatever it is, I don’t- I know, it isn’t safe.”

“So now what?” Dean asked, his eyes still pinning Draco in his seat. “You’re just done with all of it?”

Draco stumbled on his words, unable to fully explain what he himself was still wrestling with, “I never- It’s hard to even see an alternative when you’ve only ever known one thing. I know that I’ve done bad things, that I have hurt people, and I won’t lie and say that I didn’t know what I was doing or that I didn’t know I was hurting people, because I did, and did not care. It was expected of me, and there were no consequences for my actions,” He said, “But it got too big, and my mistakes… let's just say I learned where my limits were,”

“You’re trying to tell me that you’re reformed or something, that this shit isn’t gonna go away the moment you discover a way to weasel you way back into Voldemort’s good graces?”

“I wouldn’t do that,”

“All evidence to the contrary,” Dean responded dismissively.

“Actually,” Olivia spoke slowly, “He’s not lying. He means that,”

Draco felt his eyes widen. He said that because it felt true, but he placed enough doubt on himself and his strength of character, that even as those words left his mouth, he worried they might be a lie.

Draco froze and his stomach dropped.

The burn started small, almost a pinprick, but as he drew a sharp breath, it expanded rapidly, the pain coursing through his arm like a live wire. Draco couldn’t help the howl of pain that was ripped from his lips as he doubled over into the table. Draco clutched at his arm, burying his nails in the soft skin of his arm. The worst mistake of his life, the Dark Mark branded onto his forearm pulsed red hot again.

There were slender calloused hands on either side of his head, and voices swimming around his periphery as he gasped for breath. Pulling out of the grip on him, Draco stumbled to his feet pushing past Dean without a second thought.

The few patrons that remained in the pub stood, staring at him openly, wands in hand ready for a fight. He could see Olivia drawing closer, Dean drawing back. In front of him though, the entirety of his view was overtaken by a massive gathering of dark grey storm clouds.

He grabbed blindly, pulling Olivia close. He knew he must look mad, disheveled, and screaming from phantom pain. Despite this, Draco persisted, “He’s coming,” he said, “He knows we’re here,”

She shook her head, clearly at a loss, and Draco in his desperation ripped his sleeve up to reveal the writhing black ink that covered his forearm.

Olivia visibly paled. “Ashley!” she cried, “It’s time to go!”

All around the bar, wizards that had been previously prepared to fight scattered like rats, some fleeing out down the hallway Dean had come from, others tumbling into the fireplace with a handful of floo powder.

“You fuck!” Dean yelled, shoving Draco with both hands, “What the fuck have you done?”

Draco shook his head frantically, his hands raised in the face of Dean’s blatant fear. Even with his eyes glued to his former classmate, he could see Olivia and Ashley darting around the space casting spells wordlessly.

“Draco!” she called, standing at the entrance of the hallway, “did you do this?” Her words were heavy and it almost felt like the answer was being pulled from his lips.

“No! No, I promise it wasn’t me!” he said, eyeing the door frantically. For all his bravo, all his surety that he deserved everything coming to him, Draco was still very very afraid. He knew what the Dark Lord did to people, he had watched him murder and main, the Dark Lord-

Draco froze.

“The name,”

“What?”

“The name, the name!” Draco took a step forward and pointed at Dean, “you said his name, his real name,”

“Yeah? What of it? I’m not going to die quivering in fear of bullshit titles,”

“No, no,” he shook his head, “that’s not what I-” Draco took a breath, aware of how dark it had gotten outside, how loud the wind had grown, and how much his arm still burned. “Think about it, who would call him that? Not a Death Eater, certainly not someone terrified of him-”

Dean’s eyes went wide, “Oh fuck,”

“What?” Olivia strode across the room towards them, white-knuckling her wand, “What’s going on?”

“Fuck! Oh fuck me, I didn’t- shit!”

Draco felt like his skin was alive with ants, “Nobody calls him by his name, nobody would dare to, except-”

“-except his enemies, who don’t want to die ‘quivering in fear of his bullshit titles’,” Olivia finished for him, horror dawning on her face, “They put a taboo on the word, how the fuck did they manage that?”

“The ministry,” Ashley spoke up for the first time, “They control the ministry now,”

Olivia reached out and grabbed Draco’s wrist, “do you have somewhere to go?” she asked, “can you get somewhere safe?”

“I have my uncle, and his friend- I have to get back to them,”

She squeezed tighter, “be smart about this Draco, don’t get yourself killed. Can you actually manage to get back to them?”

“I have to,” he said, pulling himself from her grip.

She stared at him for a moment and then nodded once, “Good luck Malfoy,” 

He nodded back in return and took a few slow staggering steps towards the door. Draco released the breath he had been holding, preparing for the onslaught outside. Then, before he could reconsider he pushed himself out the door.

From the outside now he could see the bar clear as day, though the windows were tinted and its inhabitants shaded from view. Putting his head down he began to hurry down the street.

At first, it seemed almost as if everyone had vanished, he didn’t pass a single pedestrian as backtracked along the route that he’d taken there. But, as he grew closer to the main street he began to hear the screams ring out.

There were three Death Eaters there, but with their masks on, Draco found it impossible to identify them. Two of them moved through the street with purpose, searching, and scanning with precision, the third however was not. 

Draco could just hear the laughter of the third Death Eater over the wind, his voice low and grating as he sent a muggle man flying through the air into a light pole. The man did not get up.

Draco stood paralyzed on the street corner, terrified to move and give himself away, but knowing that if he stayed in place, the searching Death Eaters would find him easily. The Death Eater combing the street across from him lunged suddenly, dragging a young red-headed woman out from where she had tucked herself into the corner of a storefront. She was sobbing and pleading, her hands pressed together tightly in front of her. 

The Death Eater that held her called over to the third and they seemed to confer for a moment. Then, Draco watched, almost in slow motion, as the newcomer slashed his wand downward and the woman fell dead in a burst of green light.

The speed of his heart was nearly choking him, and Draco could feel his hands shaking, as he tried to adjust his grip on his wand.

Another shriek ripped through the air, not fifteen feet from where Draco had tucked himself. The Death Eater held in his grasp a boy, maybe the age of a third year, his dark eyes blown wide with fear. He struggled frantically but he was no match for the grown man that held him. The Death Eater raised his hand to wave over one of the others, and Draco could already picture the boy tumbling to the cold stone street.

Then, as the pain in his chest became almost unbearable and he feared he might vomit, he locked eyes with the boy. It felt like he’d been stabbed, and Draco knew in an instant that if that boy died he would never forgive himself.

Draco secured his wand in his hand and sent a stunner flying at the man’s head.

It hit home, the Death Eater having no time to offer even the weakest of resistance. The boy took off the second the hold on him was broken, and Draco felt relief sweep through him even as the remaining two rounded on him, and Draco knew in his heart that this was not a fight he could win.

He was on the defensive immediately. Their spells clashed against him as he threw up shield charm after shield charm, unable to send anything back their way. Their attacks grew quicker and quicker and every attack he blocked was by little more than the skin of his teeth. Then, all at once, he wasn’t fast enough.

Draco’s head cracked against the brick wall and in a single broken movement, he dropped to his knees, his wand falling from his grasp. The Death Eaters bore down on him, and Draco squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see the spell coming.

An explosion rocked the street and his eyes stuttered open, the air filled with thick grey dust. A hand closed around his upper arm and Draco struggled away, clawing for his wand where it had rolled away. The hand found him again and he turned sharply, only to find that standing above him was none other than Dean Thomas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is a bit late, I'm in the process of getting my shit together to go back to school and transitioning to working remotely.


	21. On Shattered Stone

“Edward, Edward can you hear me?”

He let out a quiet moan, the sound falling from his lips involuntarily. Every part of his body ached like a bone-deep bruise. He couldn’t have moved if he wanted to. There was a weight pressing down on his elbow, shaking him lightly, and he just wanted it to stop.

“Edward my boy, are you?- well,” there was a sigh. The voice came from miles and miles away, submerged deep underwater. “I suppose, that is a poor question, isn’t it?” There was a sharp noise then, like metal dragging against itself and the weight on his elbow disappeared. “Just… rest Edward, rest while you can,”

“Ollivander,” He tried to say, but he couldn’t properly shape the word, and the sound fell flat and unheard into the stone floor.

\---

Next time he woke, he felt more human. Everything hurt, and the slightest shift sent waves of pain coursing through his bones, but at least, he could move. The bastards hadn't even left him the courtesy of visible wounds. 

His ears rang and his balance was practically nonexistent, but he knew without a doubt that he was being watched. Ed pushed himself upright with a half-choked gasp of pain. The bindings that held his wrists in place gave him poor leverage and his arms gave out twice before he was able to push himself upright.

Narcissa Malfoy watched him from outside his cell, half concealed in shadows, her face as blank as he’d ever seen it. “What do you want?” he croaked, having no energy left for politeness or niceties.

“Why are you here, Edward?” She asked, not moving towards him at all.

He raised his bound hands with a scowl, quickly dropping them as even that little movement sapped any strength he had, “Does this look voluntary to you?”

“That is not what I meant,” She said coldly, “You practically waltzed in here. After your little display do you really expect me to think you couldn’t have gotten away from Severus if you did not want to? Why are you here Mr. Elric?”

Ed sighed with a wince, it hurt to breathe. “Why is it important for you to know?”

“I told you I would help you, didn’t I?”

“You told me you would help me if I told you where Draco was. I didn’t do that,”

She was quiet for a moment, then, “No you didn’t, and for that I am thankful,”

Oh.  _ Oh.  _ “He expected you to ask me,” 

“Perhaps,” she said, “In any case he expected me to know,”

Ed sighed, “If he’s already searching your head for information, why would I tell you anything?”

“Because,” She said, stepping forward into the dim light so that Ed could see the dark bruises that covered the side of her face, “I won’t know,”

He couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped him. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe her per se, but the idea just seemed ridiculous. “And how do you plan on doing that?”

“If you tell me, generally, what you are doing here, I will give you a pen and you will write instructions, that I will pass onto someone so below his notice he wouldn’t dream to ask. My husband and I may have fallen out of favor, but I still have my ways.”

“How do I know you aren’t going to sell me out? Trade my secrets for your family’s safety?”

“Would you be so offended? You’ve proven to be quite fond of my son,”

“My fondness for your son extends to not wanting for him to end up back here, one mistake away from execution,” Ed said. He didn’t have the energy to be cold, he was just tired, “Cause that’s how it works, right? Doesn’t matter how far up the food chain you are, if you fuck up enough times then you’re just disposable,”

Narcissa stared at him, her eyes cool and commanding in a way that Ed, despite himself, admires. “You don’t want the deal then?”

“No,” he shook his head. He needed all the help he could get, but he would not be dumb about this. He couldn’t afford to make more mistakes. “I want the deal,” Ed said, clear as he could manage, “but I'll need insurance,"

"oh?"

"Yeah," Ed met her eyes through the bars of his cell, "I want you to unbreakable vow,"

\---

Draco stumbled forward as Dean hooked a hand under his arm and pulled him to his feet. The street exploded behind them, bits of stone raining down on them as they ran. 

Draco’s ears rang with a medley of screams and explosions. His eyes weren’t focusing right, and every step he took caused his stomach to drop sharply. He was sure he would have ended up on the ground if it wasn’t for Dean’s grip on him.

They ducked behind a brick building and Draco doubled over, coughing up the dust that coated his lungs. Dean glanced his way briefly before turning his attention back towards the Death Eaters, advancing towards them through the broken street.

“You gonna be any help?” Dean grunted in between jinxes. Draco could tell that was as close to a genuine inquire about his status as he was going to get, and pushed himself upright. His first step forward was stumbled and unsteady, but he was able to maintain stability long enough to through up a shield charm in front of the two of them.

“What are you doing here?” Draco asked, his voice rough and uncooperative.

Dean spun to look at him, “Now? You really want to do this now?”

“Well, I-”

“Jesus! Please tell me you know your way back to wherever it is you’ve been staying?”

“I’m not an idiot,” Draco muttered as he tossed a stunner around the corner. The movement threw him off balance, and Dean had to snag him by the back of his jacket to keep him from falling out of cover.

“That remains to be seen,” The edge of the building fell away with an almighty crash, and they were forced to retreat. “So where exactly are we headed?”

“Yes, right,” Draco glanced, down the long road he’d walked that morning, “Small problem,”

“What? What problem?”

Draco clamped his hands over his ears as the nearer of the two Death Eaters sent a curse their way that's only purpose seemed to be making ears bleed. “It’s not exactly close by,”

“Not exactly- do you mean ‘not close’ as in a block away, or?-”

“As in, in the middle of the woods,”

“Fucking hell,” Dean cursed, dragging him further back, “So that was just a straight-up lie you told Olivia then,”

“What?”

“She asked you if you could make it back,”

“I thought I could!” Draco shot back, “I wasn’t expecting-” His defense was cut off as he was blasted off his feet.

He hung in the air for a moment before crashing through the window of a nearby shop. Draco heard a woman scream, and suddenly there were hands-on him pulling him across the floor. He struggled against them until his eyes focused and he could make out the faces of several terrified muggles.

He rolled on to his side struggling to get into a seated position, his stomach rebelling against the movement. One of the muggles was talking to him, squatted down at eye level, his hands outstretched in a placating fashion. Draco couldn’t hear a word he said. Instead, his head lolled to the side, his eyes honing in on a prone shape lying on the street.

“Dean,” he mumbled.

The man grabbed at him as he tried to stand, attempting to push him down. But desperation made him slippery and he managed to weasel his way out of the man’s grasp. 

His wand lay on the edge of the sidewalk, it’s pale color almost invisible amongst the rubble. He scooped it up, nearly collapsing as blood rushed to his head. 

By all means, he shouldn’t have gotten as lucky as he did. The Death Eater practically walked right in front of him, his peripheral vision practically nonexistent in his mask. Draco didn’t wait for him to hit the ground before he began stumbling his way towards Dean. 

He couldn’t see the last Death Eater. The blast must have sent the two of them flying as well, but Draco knew it was only a matter of time before he made an appearance. 

Dean’s eyes were closed, and there was a thin trickle of blood making its way down his forehead. “Merlin” he breathed, as he dropped to the other boy’s side, shaking him. Dean didn’t wake up. Draco tried not to panic as he hooked his hands under Dean’s armpits and began to pull. 

His breathing was choppy and he was making little progress on the uneven ground but still, Draco didn’t stop. His head burned, his vision spotty and unfocused, and he could feel warm dampness easing its way down his side. Draco staggered, pausing a moment to drag in a deep breath and adjust his position towards the alleyway he was hoping to take shelter in. Then to his horror, he could only watch as the last Death Eater rounded the corner and began stalking towards them.

Draco was forced to drop Dean as he threw up a shield charm around the both of them, catching the green flash thrown their way in the last possible second. The Death Eater moved forward at a slow deliberate pace, clearly knowing that there was no way for them to flee. But there was anger there, radiating from every part in his body. Cold, all-consuming rage, every bit of it directed Draco’s way.

The Death Eater’s mask had come off in the fight, and as his face came into view Draco felt his heart stop. Rowle looked every bit as monstrous as he had the last time Draco had seen him. He could practically feel the man’s breath of the back of his neck as he demanded Draco kill Dumbledore, torturing Ed in front of him.

Draco risked throwing a stunner at the man, but even as the spell left his lips he knew it was too weak. Rowle flicked it aside without speaking and began approaching more rapidly; sending a barrage his way at a fierce enough speed that Draco could do little more than struggle to keep his feet. 

He was on the ground suddenly, no air in his lungs, as a jagged piece of stone rested against his neck. Dean lay a few feet away, still not moving. He let out a strangled cry as a hand closed around his throat and lifted him upward for a moment before smashing him back into the ground.

Rowle leaned over him and Draco dug his fingernails into the man’s hands until he drew blood, but the man did not relent.

“I’m so glad it was you,” Rowle grinned widely, squeezing even tighter for a moment. “We never know who we’re gonna get, but this was a wonderful surprise,”

Draco choked, scrambling to claw at the man’s face.

“That was my first order of business, you know?” his words were almost conversational, rising just slightly in volume to cover Draco’s whimpers of pain, “As soon as I got out of Azkaban, I went to your home, saw your mother- hell of a woman-”

Draco brought up his knee, driving it into the Death Eater’s back as hard as he could, dragging a harsh growl out of the man.

His grip tightened again, still not enough to kill him right away, just enough to starve Draco of breath until his face turned blue. “Saw your mother, and then, well then, I went and saw your little friend,” Rowle drank in the wild confusion in Draco's eyes, his face contorting into an impossibly wide grin. “Oh? Didn’t you know?" Rowle leaned in close, shifting his weight onto Draco's chest, "We’ve got that blond thing you like so much, the angry little Alchemist? What do they call him again? Elric?”

Draco’s mind went blank. He thrashed against Rowle with a strength he didn't know he had left, shaking and clawing and striking at the man with his knees. The Death Eater began to laugh, and laugh, and laugh, practically throwing his head back with glee. “And I thought he screamed nicely last year,” he said, whispering like he was letting Draco in on a secret, “But Merlin, oh you should have heard what we could do to him with a little more time on our hands!”

A sob forced its way out of Draco’s throat, the sound leaving his lips choked and weak like the cry of a dying animal. The gashes he’d dug into Rowle’s hands bleed onto his neck, hot thick blood, following his tear tracks. His vision was going. Rowle leaned in closely, letting up on the pressure just enough to drag it out even longer. In the same hushed tone, he whispered stories into Draco’s ear, of what he’d done to Ed, of what he planned to do to him now that he had him in his grasp as well. Draco could do nothing but fight weakly, his fingers losing their dexterity as his lungs were starved.

When air came again, it happened so suddenly Draco nearly passed out from the shock. Rowle slumped overtop of him, the huge Death Eater’s body covering him in his entirety. His vision swam uselessly, his arms too weak to push the man off him, knocking uselessly against the limp form that pinned him. Draco's face was soaked, tears and blood mixed together, beginning to coagulate. He felt weak, and useless, and so so helpless.

“Draco!” A voice cried out sharp and desperate, the sound drove a knife into his forehead and he let out a keen in protest. There was the sound of stone shifting, jarring loud, and growing closer. Something hit the ground beside him, and the weight of the Death Eater was shoved off.

Hands closed around the side of his face, and Draco tried to pull away weakly. “Shh, shh,” the voice said, a hand drug itself through his hair soothingly. The newcomer cursed as his fingers grew tangled, a small gash just off his scalp reopening. “Easy Draco, it’s alright now, we’ve got you. We’ve got both of you,”

“Ted?” the word was little more than an exhale, it hurt to breathe and Draco could feel himself fading quickly.

“Yeah son, it’s me.”

“Dean?”

“Dirk’s got him, we’re gonna get you out here,” The hands left his face, and Draco moaned at the loss. They had felt so warm, and Draco was growing colder with every passing second. All at once, he was weightless, and his eyes couldn’t fight back the darkness any longer.


	22. The Prisoner's Vow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: for a brief panic attack toward the end of the chapter, not particularly graphic- but I thought it was worth noting.

Ed sat against the back of his cell, his head against the wall. Despite having his eyes closed, he could feel Olivander’s gaze burrowing into him from across the way. The man knew something was up but had yet so far said nothing to Ed. He wanted to reassure the elderly man that he wasn’t doing anything reckless, that there was nothing to worry about, but he didn’t have the energy to lie to his only companion.

Narcissa had agreed to his bargain, and Ed wasn’t sure if that surprised him or not. He didn’t trust her not to introduce some caveat or other at the last minute, but he was… cautiously optimistic.

He knew Al would say to trust her, that she cared about Draco and that, that would make her follow through on their agreement. He probably would have advised against the Unbreakable Vow- said it was too risky- but Ed wasn’t… well, the circle of people that he trusted unequivocally in this world was small, verging on non-existent, and Narcissa Malfoy was certainly not a member.

Greed, Ling, and the Chimeras would have called him a fucking idiot for trying to deal with her at all. Greed and Ling would know where he was coming from at least, but they were also the physical embodiment of avarice- so he could never tell how much their approval was a good thing. They would have understood, but Narcissa concealed far too much for either of them to be okay with working with her, much less trusting her. They needed a degree of control those two.

He… honestly didn’t know what Mustang would say.  _ Truth _ , the ego trip the colonel would have if he knew that Ed was holding him up as his own personal sorta role model. It wasn’t his fault that he’d spent too many of his formative years surrounded by the ambitious, manipulative, self-serving flame alchemist.

Fuck. Ed missed them all so much.

He’d dreamt about Winry last night. He’d thought it was real at first, that he’d faded through to spectate again. However, it hadn’t taken him long to realize that wasn’t the case at all.

She hadn’t recognized him, in the dream. She’d looked right through him without the faintest clue who he was, and she never seemed to hear him when he tried to tell her. 

When he woke, he was surprised by the cloying panic that clung to his chest. Even awake the itching fear in the back of his brain wouldn’t go away. Would she recognize him if she saw him? Would any of them?

He felt like… he didn’t feel like the same person anymore. He hated- no, he really didn’t know how he felt about that. It just- hurt to think about. He’d been so young back then, in a way he’d never recognized before. He was just so tired now, tired and desperate and  _ mean  _ in a way he didn’t want to think about for too long.

He was mean, wasn’t he? Just blackened, and old, and-  _ Truth _ , he hated that he’d had to change. He didn’t know what he would do if the people back home hated him for it too.

He was a caged animal now. Left and forgotten and going feral in the dark. 

With Narcissa’s help, if everything went right, if she didn’t betray him, this wouldn’t be for nothing. All the pain, all the secrets he held back through all the burning, would be worth it. If she was able to get her hands on Flamel’s array, then he was almost home free. All he would need was a power source and he could just- he could go home.

Ed hated the bitter taste of unfinished business that burned in the back of his throat.

It wasn’t in his nature to leave things half-finished, to leave people behind. He tried to tell himself that he might not have a choice, that he was running on borrowed time, but the bitterness didn’t go away. 

He had to- he had to know that things were going to be some kind of okay before he left. 

Who was he kidding? He knew what was holding him back. As much as he really hoped things worked out for Harry Potter, that Voldemort rotted in the deepest part of hell made available, that wasn’t what was making him hesitate. What he really needed to know was that Draco was going to be okay. That he would be safe, and secure, and… happy. Fuck, Ed really wanted him to be happy.

Narcissa would be back soon.

He really fucking hoped this worked.

Ollivander shifted, chains running along the stone, and Ed swallowed harshly, trying to crush the lump in his throat. His closed eyes burned, something ugly building up inside of him as he fought back a wave of unidentifiable emotion threatening to rip him apart. He knocked his head back against the wall, wincing at the impact.

“Edward,” Olivander's voice was reproachful but laced with concern.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice croaking a little.

“What has-” the old man sighed and Ed could hear him nearing the divide between their cells, “Can you tell me what’s happened?”

“No,”

“No?”

“I’m sorry, I just-” his voice broke, and Ed frantically blinked back a few tears as they tried to escape. “I can’t. It’s not safe,”

“I understand,” Olivander said softly. His voice carried the remnants of a cough that had dogged him for weeks, “I wish I was more useful to you, my boy,”

“No, no,” Ed shook his head, turning to look at the man, “You’ve- I know it wasn’t your choice, but thank you. Thank you so much for being here with me.” He gave a weak smile, “I wouldn’t have kept together near as well as I have without you. The last time-” Ed cut himself off with a harsh swallow.

“The last time?”

“Yeah- ah, they, the Death Eaters, they got me once before. I was... alone then. It wasn’t as long as this has been, not even close, but it still- In any case, I’m glad for the company even if neither of us is exactly here by choice,”

“I-” There was the sound of metal scraping across stone, and both of them fell into a tense silence. Carefully, Ed reached out his senses, probing gently outward for the now-familiar magical signature. He relaxed mildly as Narcissa strode out of the shadows, head held high. She flicked her wand almost dismissively, and Ed knew without looking that Olivander wouldn’t remember any of this.

Ed attempted to push himself to his feet, by his body was too weak, and he crumpled back to the stone. Narcissa looked down at him, and Ed could only imagine how he looked in her eyes, dirty and crumpled and weak. She unlocked the cell and walked inside, silent as always. To Ed’s surprise, she lowered herself to the floor in front of him, meeting his eyes fully.

Neither of them said anything for a long time, they just continued to look one another over. The bruise on her face had taken on a nasty green and yellow tinge along the edge, Ed wondered if Voldemort had forbidden her from healing herself. 

She pointed her wand towards the other cell and Ed watching in horror as Ollivander walked towards them, his eyes glassy and unseeing. “What are you doing?” Ed said, sharply, once again attempting to struggle to his feet.

“Be still Elric,” she said, not unkindly, “I do not intend to harm the old wandmaker, we simply need an officiant. She stood then and walked to where Olivander had come to a halt in front of the dividing bars.  _ “You will take this wand,”  _ she said, her voice heavy with the power of compulsion,  _ “And you will begin an unbreakable vow with the conditions we provide,”  _ Narcissa lowered herself onto the stone again.

Slowly she extended her arm, taking Ed’s bound hand in hers. Ollivander moved as if in a dream, silvery threads slipping from the end of the wand hovering over their outstretched arms. Narcissa nodded at him, and he opened his mouth. 

Unbreakable vows were tricky magic, Elia Rosier was proof of that. Her servitude as the result of her ancestors' mistakes, had left her with a deep-seated hatred of the binding magic. As such, the first magic lesson she had ever taught him, years ago, tucked away in that little farm, was how not to fuck one up.

“Will you, Narcissa Malfoy, to the best of your ability, aid me in my efforts to obtain the item that I record on the parchment you have provided?”

“I will,”

One of the silver strands descended and locked their wrists in place.

“And will you protect my secrets, and the existence of this vow, from the one who calls himself Lord Voldemort?”

“I will,”

The second silver band joined the first. Ed went to release her hand, but her grip tightened suddenly, holding him in place.

“Will you, Edward Elric, vow to watch over and protect my son, Draco, to the best of your ability?” Her eyes bore into his own, and he knew if he refused, she would walk away now and there would be no deal to speak of.

In the end, of course, it wasn't a hard decision.

“I will,”

\---

Draco opened his eyes, his vision was blurry and his gaze slow to respond. He was in the cabin, tucked against the wall on the lower bunk. Beside him was Dean, his head wrapped in fresh bandages that stood out starkly against the grim and rubble that clung to his clothes. 

Draco tried to speak but choked on his words immediately. His throat was raw and swollen, it hurt to draw breath, and the thought of pushing out words was enough to bring tears to his eyes. He shifted, accidentally smacking his hand against the wall of the cabin. 

Immediately Draco could make out the sound of the footstep, and between one breath and another, his uncle was leaning over him, his head blocking out the light, “Draco? Easy there son, easy,”

Draco opened his mouth to talk but the man shushed him softly, “careful there, don’t talk, your throat is in quite the state,” Draco nodded with short stilted movements, his neck protesting the motion. Ted frowned, “I’m sorry son, neither Dirk nor I are much in the way of healers. We’ve done what we can, and your friend here will be fine, but unless we run into someone with a bit more experience, I think the two of you are gonna be banged up for a while,”

In the distance Draco could hear the sound of the car door slamming; moments later the cabin door swung open. “All good Ted?”

“All good, Draco’s just woken,”

Dirk’s steps paused, and there was silence for a moment “good, we’ll have to be going soon. Every moment we’re here, we risk the Death Eater’s finding us.”

Draco swallowed back the pain as he tried to speak again, eventually settling on just snagging the sleeve of his uncle’s jacket. Ted startled slightly as he looked back down, “Oh,” he said, “We can’t stay here,” his words were almost apologetic, “We’re going to have to rough it for a bit I’m afraid. It’s not ideal, especially with the two of you needing to rest, but we’ll make it work.”

Draco frowned, “driving?” he croaked out, his damaged throat protested and made tears pool behind his eyes.

“Careful, careful,” Ted cautioned, and Draco was shocked to see such open concern on his uncle's face. The man sighed, “No, we’re leaving the car here. Dirk has a place in mind, we’ll apparate from here on out, just carry our stuff with us. He has a few bags with extension charms we’ll use… it’ll be fine,”

Exhausted Draco let his arm drop back to his side, but knowing that they were leaving shortly he couldn’t afford to fall unconscious again. He pushed upright, his arms straining under his weight, bandages pulling every which way. Ted helped him ease his back against the wall and went to fetch him a glass of water.

As Draco sipped slowly to keep from choking, he watched the systematic deconstruction of the one-room cabin that had been their temporary home. Ted asked him if he was alright on his own, and Draco nodded, freeing Ted to help Dirk outside. 

The moment he was alone, he began to feel a flighty panic grow. A twitching deep in his gut, like his insides themselves, were rebelling. It was too much, too much at once. The transition was ultimately a slight one, but knowing properly now that there were people out to get him, people out to get-

Draco's stomach swooped suddenly as a memory came rushing back to him.

Oh, God. Ed. Oh fuck,  _ oh fuck _ -

His breath caught, and Draco felt his lungs heave as he tried and failed to draw in a half-decent breath. It felt like his throat had swollen shut, choking him as he desperately tried to stop the images populating his mind. 

His brain overlaid the sounds of Ed’s screams from the astronomy tower with the graphic pictures Rowle had painted as he pinned Draco to the street.

His hands were going frighteningly numb, and his head felt strange and distant from his body, his breath still hitching violently like a fish out of water. 

Sound felt distant as if he was hearing things through several meters of water, and his eyes were growing spotty.

There was pressure around his ankle, intrusive enough that he noticed it through his haze. The more he noticed it the more feeling seemed to extend out from it, creeping awareness dragging him back from the distant place his head had carried him away too. He became aware that the pressure around his ankles was a hand in the same sudden moment that his hearing snapped back into the present.

“Malfoy,  _ Malfoy-  _ Christ, breath Malfoy-” Dean tightened his grip, shaking him slightly. It was clear he would be sitting up if he could, but instead the other teen was stuck in the prone position unable to move in any direction at all.

Draco dragged in a sudden gasp as he realized he’d been holding his breath as he starred. His oxygen-starved lungs drank the air in desperately His next few breaths were short, uneven little things that would have sent him spiraling again if not for the weight grounding him in the present.

Even still he was only half aware of the rambling litany spilling from Dean’s lips, full of confusion and half thought out comforts. His breath slowly began to steady itself, but even as bone-deep exhaustion swept over him, a single thought burned in the back of his mind. 

He would not abandon Ed. And whatever it took, he would get him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, sorry that was a bigger break then I was expecting to take there, but the End Times have made my schedule a bit odd and writing time hard to come by. 
> 
> Because I don't say it near enough, thank you so so much to each and every one of you for sticking with me thus far, seeing kudos and reading your comments has provided be some much-needed serotonin this past year. If it wasn't for all of you there would be zero chance that this series would have made it this far, much less be beginning its path towards the end (don't worry there is still plenty of story left to go)
> 
> Much Love,
> 
> Pree


	23. The Ties That Bind

They camped on the bank of a river for a week. The tents Dirk had packed were not uncomfortable per se, but even knowing how enchanted they were, the thin canvas coverings felt hopelessly weak compared to the walls of the cabin. Dean was restless, unable to venture out far before breaching the carefully woven protections, caged with relative strangers with no real possessions to call his own. Sometimes Draco joined him, most times though, he just let Dean pace in silence.

His throat hadn’t healed yet. He could speak now, quietly, and for little bits at a time before his voice gave out. His silence made it easier for him to fade into the background, disappear back into his little corner. Not that he minded. He needed to think, or rather, he needed to plan.

His injuries were an inconvenience. He had never been the strongest fighter, and like this, any attempt to save Ed would only result in his own death. Which was unhelpful… He knew where Ed was at least- or rather, he was fairly sure he did.

Rowle’s mention of his mother made Draco almost positive Ed was being held within Malfoy Manor. The location was a double-edged sword. On one hand, he knew the layout of his own home better than anyone, but on the other, even before the end of last year, the Dark Lord had been making himself quite at home with the grand halls.

However, Draco could only his return to the manor as an inevitable fixed point. For one reason or another, he was sure that he would find himself back within its embrace again. So, if his future was certain, he had to be sure to make the most of the opportunity.

Draco jumped sharply as the flap to the tent swung open harshly and Dean ducked inside. Instinctively his hand tightened around the trinket he'd been aimlessly fiddling with. The wooden ball of carefully crafted snakes had been finding its way into his hands more and more these days. Without any real thought, he jerked his arm, trying to hide it from sight.

Dean’s eyes narrowed, locking onto the sudden burst of movement “What’s that then?”

“Nothing,”

“Nothing?”

Draco stood and stepped over to his bag to deposit the ball, “It’s none of your business-” Dean lunged, wrapping his hand around Draco’s wrist and yanking him forward. Draco stumbled, thrown off balance by the sudden shift and weakened by his injured body, “Fuck off!” he hissed, his voice cracking at the ill-advised uptick in volume.

Dean dropped his wrist and looked at Draco with a strange expression on his face, “never pictured you as one for... 'baubles',”

“Fuck off,” he crocked.

“That from your girlfriend? What’s her name, Parkinson?”

“No,” Draco dropped the gift in his bag and turned away sharply, showing his back to the other boy. 

They’d been at a stalemate ever since they both woke up. They didn't know what to do with each other, regardless of if Dean believed he wasn’t the enemy now- he certainly had been during their years at school. But, for as much lingering animosity as there was between them, Dean couldn’t leave. 

He’d abandoned his possessions and his chance at safety within the pub when he'd made the choice to save Draco. So for now, they continued to circle one another, waiting to see who would blink first. Toeing the line, and testing each other's patience in little ways.

“It’s just a thing,” Draco said after a moment, still feeling the other boy’s eyes burning into the back of his neck, “Ed gave it to me,”

“Ed? like Elric?”

“Yeah? Who else?” Draco said, skewing up his face in confusion.

“No, no, it’s just- He always seemed a bit ornery. I didn’t realize you two were… that kind of close,"

“We’re friends,”

“Right,” Dean said with a sharp nod of his head.

“Wha- why the fuck did you say it like that? We’re friends, you know that we’re friends-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean threw up his hands, “I didn’t mean anything by it- honestly,”

Draco narrowed his eyes at the other boy, and exhaled sharply, “Whatever,”

There was silence between them for a moment. Draco made his way to his corner of the tent, collapsing down on his bedding. He brought his hand up to his throat, bracing against the sharp pain that had flared up with his speaking. Dean remained standing at the far end.

“So… you don’t know where he is then? Ed, I mean- That’s just what you told Olivia,” Dean added as Draco glared,”

“I-” he winced, his voice breaking again, “I didn’t. Then.”

“But you know now? How on earth did you manage that? I’ve practically been with you this entire time.”

“Rowle,”

“Who the fuck is Rowle?”

Draco swallowed roughly, reaching for his water bottle, “the Death Eater. The one who-” Draco gestured to his purpling neck. 

“Fuck,” Draco nodded in agreement, “So is he…?”

“Alive, I- I think, for now. Pretty sure they’re keeping him at my house,”

“Fuck, that’s- shit,”

“Yeah,”

“I’m sorry,”

Draco hummed, letting his eyes slid shut as his head tilted back; his mind overrun by fantasies of rescue. “I’m going to get him back,”

Even with his eyes closed, Draco could feel the heavy weight of the silence that had fallen over them. “That sounds like suicide,” Dean said, his voice low and careful in a way Draco had yet to hear. “I’m not joking Malfoy-”

“Neither am I,”

“Christ! Malfoy- you have to realize that you wouldn’t survive. I mean, they’ve clearly established they have not qualms about hurting you,”

“Look-” Draco winced, “It’s- I owe him,”

“Malfoy-”

“-Besides!” Draco interjected sharply, “They… want something from him. And I trust him, and I know he wouldn’t tell, but… well, when’s the last time The Dark Lord gave anyone a choice in anything? He- Ed, would never forgive himself if he gave it up,”

“What does he know that they want so bad?”

“I can’t tell you that, I won’t,”

“Malfoy,”

“I won’t,”

Dean was silent for a moment, reaching up to run a hand over his short hair. “Fuck,” he exhaled sharply, “Fuck, okay,” He stared Draco directly in the eye, “It’s dangerous yeah? The secret that Elric knows, the one You-Know-Who is after?”

“Yeah?”

“So it’s a Flamel thing then. Yeah, has to be,” Dean muttered, “that’s the only thing that makes sense, the only thing only he would be the only one to know- plus, first year- that’s what the spooky fuck was after- Fuck.” Dean finished with emphasis. “Okay, okay then. On your feet Malfoy,”

“I’m sorry what?”

“Dude, get the fuck up,” Dean tugged his arm and Draco stumbled upright, pulling his arm back quickly.

“What are you doing? What is this?”

“Training,”

“Training?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, “cause apparently we need to go rescue your boyfriend, and as proven by that whole fiasco,” he nodded at Draco’s injuries, “you’re apparently shit at dueling,”

“I am not!

Dean gave him a skeptical look and tugged him outside sharply to the river's edge and squared up. It wasn’t until hours later, long after the sun had disappeared beneath the horizon, and Draco had several more bruises to show for his efforts, that he finally processed the whole of Dean’s sentence.

\---

Elizabeth Harris did not startle. Of the many things she had learned living in her grandmother’s house, perhaps the most important one was to never allow herself to be caught off guard. To accept what comes with grace and adaptability. So, when a loud crack shattered the silence of the library she did not startle. She did however draw her wand.

The house-elf blinked up at her, before dropping into a low bow. His long ears dragging across the hardwood.

“Can I help you?” she asked, a little bit of bite slipping into her words to cover the wariness in her bones. She did not recognize this elf.

“I’ve a message for you Miss,” The house-elf extended his arm out towards her slowly, though Lizzy could see nothing there.

“From whom?”

“I-” the house elf let out a choked little noise, “I- cannot say, Miss,”

She hesitated for a moment, thoughts dancing behind her eyes as she thought her way through possibility after possibility. She heard a muffled cough from a few rows down, reminding her that they may not be alone for long. “Give it here then” 

Oh so carefully, the elf dropped a tiny folded piece of parchment into her hand. Eyeing its folds carefully she could tell that it was enchanted. If she had to guess, she'd say that thumb-sized document would expand to reveal more of itself the second she began to unfold it. This would have to be dealt with away from other people.

She closed her hand around the parchment, and a sharp crack quickly followed; the house-elf was gone without word or dismissal. She glanced around quickly to see if anyone else had noticed. You could never be too careful these days. She was pointedly aware she was not the only one operating in the castle with spies this year. 

Pansy was sitting in the common room when she returned. There were deep circles under her eyes, the kind that never seemed to fade away. Zabini was splayed out on the couch beside her, pretending not to be bothered by the dark bruise painted across his cheekbone, but Lizzy could see the tension in his shoulders. Everyone was tense these days, even them with the least to fear of everyone.

“No luck Lizzy?” Pansy asked, noting the lack of any books in her arms.

“Heard the Carrows were coming by,” she lied, moving smoothly towards their dorm.

“No appetite for a show then, Elizabeth?” Zabini called after her.

She refused to rise to the bait Blaise had laid out. He’d been in a foul mood since his altercation with Longbottom near the kitchens, responding would only make things more unpleasant for everyone. He was already hard enough to live with, she didn't have to energy to devote to spatting with him.

She climbed the stairs and crossed to the far side of the dorm, settling on her bed, before slowly beginning to unfold the parchment. It wasn’t as big as she feared, and there were no apparent curses that needed to be dealt with- but even if there had been, Lizzy doubted she would have been able to focus on undoing them, as one the paper opened, she was met by the messy, but otherwise recognizable handwriting of Edward Elric.

Lizzy’s eyes jumped from the page and danced around the room as if the presence of forbidden knowledge would summon a Death Eater to witness her actions. When no one appeared, and there was no evidence of anyone listening, she allowed her eyes to take in the words in front of her.

_ Deliver To Elizabeth Harris. Read No Further. _

Then, a couple of lines below the instructions.

_ Lizzy, _

_ I’m sorry to ask this of you. I know the risk is great even contacting you, but you are the only one I trust to have both the ability, the discretion, and the inclination to do what needs to be done.  _

_ I need you to find a man called Aberama Loe in St. Mungos. He has an Alchemical array, or knows the location of an array that I need. One meant to summon a ‘Monster of Gold’.  _

_ You once told me you were a coward, I still think you’re wrong. _

_ \- E. E. _

Lizzy stared at the words printed before her, something heavy settling in the pit of her stomach. It was absurd and selfish of him to ask. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t put the careful balance she had struck in her life at risk. Not for him. Not for anyone.

But even as she thought those things, she could feel herself planning. The winter holidays were in a week, it wouldn’t be… impossible for her to slip away… to find this, Aberama Loe. She glanced back down at the writing, studying the scratchy pressure, the lack of details- it could be a trap. 

They didn’t talk about Draco much, or Ed for that matter. It wasn’t safe to discuss such things with Death Eaters so fully entrenched in the school. No one was really sure what had happened- there were rumors of course. Potter had been there, Potter had made it out of the tower. Draco and Ed on the other hand… had just disappeared.

Some people thought they were dead, that they’d been killed by Dumbledore or the Order or just in the crossfire. Lizzy hadn’t thought so- but she also hadn’t known. Now it seemed, Ed at least was alive.

“Lizzy?” her head snapped up the door where Pansy stood tentatively on the threshold, “Everything alright?”

“Everythings fine,” She replied, trying to soften her voice and put Pansy at ease. The last few years had been rough for her, and Lizzy didn’t want to put anything else on her shoulders. Nothing she couldn’t just handle on her own.

“What’s that? In your hand?”

Elizabeth shook her head, willing the tension to flow out of her shoulders. “It’s nothing, nothing important,”

“You sure?” Pansy asked. She had that look on her face, the one that meant she knew she was being lied too, but wouldn’t push. Lizzy hated that look, hated that Pansy knew that she was no good at honesty.

“Yeah,” Lizzy froze as she felt herself begin to worry her lip. A stupid tell that she should have grown out of years ago. “But… I’ll let you know- if it does become something. Promise,”

“Alright Lizzy,” she took a step back, as if to leave, but Elizabeth could see the clear hesitance in her movements.

“Hey,”

“Yeah?”

“Come here, for a sec?” Pansy blinked and stepped forward allowing the door to latch behind herself. 

Elizabeth folded up the letter and set it on top of the dresser at her bedside. She turned to meet Pansy, her sheets bunching up around her legs, and took the other girl’s hands in her own. Quietly, she swiped her thumb back and forth over Pansy’s smooth skin. And for a moment it was quiet in her head. Her thoughts, always moving in a thousand different directions, planning and codifying and classifying, were still. She wanted it to last forever.

“Hey,”

“Hi,” Pansy, responded, her voice wavering a little.

“I miss you,” she said, looking up to meet Pansy’s gaze.

Pansy’s grip tightened, almost painfully, her knuckles turning white. “I miss you-” her voice broke, and Lizzy watched, half in awe, as Pansy’s eyes began to fill with tears. “I miss you so fucking much, Lizzy,”

She squeezed back sharply and dropped Pansy’s hands, bringing her fingers up to brace the sides of her face. “Hey-  _ hey _ , it’s okay, Pans, hey-” Lizzy pulled her forward carefully so that Pansy was fully leaning on her. Pansy curled into the crook of her neck, clinging to the front of her robes frantically.

Lizzy kissed her hair softly, shushing her, and whispering automatic reassurances that flowed from a place of compassion she didn’t know she still had.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you Pans, It’ll be alright,”

Pansy muffled a sob, shaking lightly in Lizzy’s embrace, tears soaking through to skin. She straightened up suddenly, facing Elizabeth fully. Her short hair was mussed and messy, and her dark eyes were swollen. She looked like a mess, undone in a way that Pansy never normally allowed herself.

Lizzy was caught off guard as Pansy surged forward, their lips meeting suddenly, almost too harshly. She wove one hand in her dark hair, the other on the neck of her robe, pushing Pansy back lightly when she found herself needing to draw breath. 

It wasn’t the first time they had kissed, but in the past their interactions had always been stolen little moments, quiet and tucked away out of respect for Pansy’s engagement. This, however, was altogether different.

Elizabeth could see the light in Pansy’s eyes, but it unsettled her. It felt manic and desperate in all the wrong ways. She let out a quiet breath, tugging the other girl forward until they were both laid out fully on the bed. Lizzy straightened up, casting off the top layer of her robes, and kicked off her shoes onto the floor. 

Pansy followed in suit a little breathlessly and Lizzy reached out to catch her hands in her own. Slowly she gave a little shake of her head and pressed a kiss to Pansy’s hands. “It’ll be alright Pansy,  _ we’re _ going to be alright.”

“How can you know?” Pansy’s voice wavered, and Lizzy tugged her into her arms, folding them into the bed, Pansy tucked against her chest.

“Trust me Pans, you just gotta trust me,”

Elizabeth held Pansy to her chest, her face half-buried in the other girl's hair. Overtop of it, Lizzy eyes fixed on the piece of parchment sitting on her dresser. 

They would be safe, she would make them safe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is defiantly going to be some mild timeline fudging- rest-assured, I know where I'm going, but I am too far away from my copies of the books to double-check everything. (The last book not taking place within the mold of a school year has thoroughly fucked my timekeeping abilities.)
> 
> 'Til the next.


	24. A Face in the Dark

Dean gave a startled cry as he was sent flying backward, nearly hitting a tree. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco could see Ted look up and survey the two of them, checking to make sure everyone's limbs were still attached, and no one was seriously wounded. He and Dirk had accepted their frequent mock fights easily enough, but Draco couldn’t help but feel like his uncle was suspicious.

He and Dean had been careful to keep any mention of plans of a possible incursion into Malfoy Manor under wraps, both of them knowing the two adults would never allow it. He’d considered it briefly, his uncle had seemed… decently fond of Ed in the relatively short amount of time they’d known one another, but in the end, he’d decided it wasn’t worth the risk of being stopped.

He was still in a good amount of pain these days, but his throat had mostly healed, and the exercise was good for him, kept him out of his head. To his surprise, Dean made a decent companion and, despite Draco’s vocal claims not to need one, not a half-bad teacher. It bruised Draco’s ego somewhat to know that in all likelihood, Dean had learned much of his practical dueling skills from Potter and his ridiculous army.

They would be heading out soon. They moved every few days or so, the Death Eater’s attack had hit far too close to home and Dirk was restless and paranoid. A couple of times now, Draco had walked in on the man writing letters to his wife and kids, letters he couldn’t afford to send. Each time this happened he couldn’t help but think of his aunt, alone and all but abandoned by Ted and himself.

He was jolted out of his head as Dean retaliated with a loud cry. Draco brought up his wand blocking easily, knowing full well that had Dean wanted he could have easily knocked him on his back by being just a little quieter. There was a clump of dirt clinging to the edge of his short hair and more than a few pine needles stuck to his sweater, but Dean seemed otherwise unphased by the landing. They exchanged a few more volleys here and there before Ted whistled them over to grab their bags.

“Where we headed them?” Dean asked as he picked up his water bottle to get a drink.

“Gloucestershire,”

Draco blinked, “Really?”

“We need to stock up on food some, additionally there’s a good forest nearby, should be a half-decent place to rest for a while.”

“You don’t think the Death Eater’s are still on our trail?” Dean asked, just a touch of wariness in his voice.

“I’m sure they are,” Dirk cut in as he walked up to join them, “at least, I’m sure they’re still looking for us- but Ted’s right, we’re gonna run out of food if we keep at it. Better to stock up now when we seem to have a decent lead on them. Besides, I’m sure you boys could use some rest, and you, Dean, I’m sure you’ve been wanting to pick up some changes of clothes.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,”

“Grand,” Dirk nodded, “grab your things then, let's try to be gone in fifteen. I want to get all the shopping done, and camp set up before nightfall,”

Dean and Draco hurried off, shoving things into bags in a way that had almost become second nature. Before rejoining the other two Draco patted down his pockets making sure Ed’s gift was with his stuff and hurried off.

Dirk directed their apparition into a bit of park, and for the first time in weeks, Draco could hear the sounds of people and automobiles not far off. Ted dug in his pockets and pulled out two separate lists, one of which he handed to Dean. This was accompanied by a not-insignificant amount of money. Draco tried not to feel that this meant he wasn’t to be trusted with the funds, but nonetheless, he felt a thread of irritation directed towards the other boy.

“Right then,” Dirk said, adjusting his backpack to settle more securely between his shoulders, “There’s an underground market not far from here, small enough that I don’t expect it to garner much attention, but best be on your guard.”

“Right,” Dean said with a nod, “We meeting back here when we’re done?”

Ted nodded, “You boys stick together,” then after a moment he added, “Draco, I think it would be best but put on a hat or something, son,”

Despite himself, Draco felt himself flush a little. “Here,” Dean said, passing him a stocking cap that Draco knew for a fact, the other boy had found on the ground a few campsites back. Begrudgingly he shoved it on his head, he knew that everything about his appearance made him recognizably a Malfoy and that he’d be helping them at least minimally by covering his hair.

Taking care to shove the increasingly long strands under the cover of the hat, he turned to face inspection. Dirk gave him a quiet nod of approval and Dean flashed an okay sign that seemed just of this side of patronizing.

Dirk led the way into town. Draco did his best to keep his eyes down, struggling not to peer through each passing storefront to check for Death Eaters.

The entrance to the marketplace was down a thin alleyway and through what appeared to be a shop's back door. However, on the other side of the doorway was a whole other cobblestone lined street. It was small and much less impressive than Diagon Alley, but there was something about it so inherently magical that it felt like coming home.

They split into groups, Dean and Draco heading to a small clothing shop, while Ted and Dirk went off in search of food. The clothing shop was a rickety thing, the kind of place that Draco wouldn’t have been caught dead in before, but for now, it would serve its purpose. Dean disappeared into the rows of clothes without a word, while Draco lingered by the door keeping an eye on the street.

He hadn’t been standing there for longer than ten minutes when he heard a reedy voice call out to him. “Can I help you, young man?”

The shop owner was practically bent in two, his limbs thin and boney, watery eyes peering through a pair of round glasses. “No thank you,” Draco said, with a nod.

The man came closer giving him a suspicious look. “Aren’t you meant to be in school?”

Draco blinked, at a loss for half a second. “Graduated last year,”

“Ahhh,” the man said, but his voice betrayed his disbelief. “That your friend back there?”

Before Draco could answer he was interrupted, “Everything all good Dee?”

It took him a moment to realize that it was him Dean was addressing, “Everything’s fine. Did you find what you needed?”

“Yeah,”

“Is he your friend?” the shopkeeper asked, this time directing the question to Dean.

“Yeah?” Dean answered loosely as if what he was saying wouldn't have been completely unbelievable only a short while ago. “Should I go up to the counter to checkout?”

The old man nodded slowly and made his way to the front of the store, the two boys trailing behind him. This close, Draco could see the tension in Dean’s shoulders that his voice had held back. Instinctively Draco felt his hand tighten around his wand.

The man was sluggish in his movements, reading and marking down prices while never really taking his eyes off them. At last, he totaled the cost up and Dean paid. The shop owner gathered the clothing in a bag and as he handed them over he asked Dean, “Shouldn’t you boys be in school?”

And before Draco could answer, Dean shrugged, “Winter Holidays,”

For a moment Draco's eyes met those of the shop owner, then the man looked down and away, and wished them a good day.

Draco hurried out, forcing Dean to jog a little to catch up. “Hey!” Dean called, “Hey! What’s the rush? What happened?”

Draco fought the urge to glance back over his shoulder, “he knows,”

“Knows? Know that we’re- What happened?”

“I told him I graduated, you told him we were on school holiday,”

“So?”

“So?” Draco scowled, “So, we’re school age, stocking up on clothes, carrying large packs, and we’re lying- seem suspicious to you?”

“Shit,” Dean bit his lip, his eyes darting around, “You think he’s gonna rat us out?”

“Can we risk it?”

“Shit,” Dean ran a hand along his hair, “Shit, okay, so we find Dirk and Ted then?”

Draco shook his head, “No, we go back to the park. Dirk was right, we need the food. Seeking them out is just gonna put a target on their backs too,”

Dean looked hesitant but he nodded nonetheless. Draco helped him shove the clothes in his pack and the two of them began walking briskly towards the exit to the market, each of them clutching their wands just out of sight. For all the training they had been doing, the thought of encountering a Death Eater again, so soon, and so unexpectedly, filled Draco with a fear he refused to think about.

They were nearly out when Dean stopped suddenly. Draco whirled around to find the other boy frozen, staring at a shop front. “What? What is it?”

“Just-” Dean hesitated for a second, “Just give me a second,”

“What? No, we need to go!”

“I just need a second,” and Dean stepped inside. Draco and his protests followed after him.

The shop seemed utterly devoted of purpose, just a collection of odd magical knick-knacks that resembled muggle electronics. In the few seconds Dean had been out of his sight, the boy had taken up an animated discussion with the elderly dark-skinned woman sitting in the corner, pointing to something in the front window. Draco could neither make out what they were saying, nor see anything that would have so clearly distracted Dean.

After a moment Dean pressed some money into her hand and grabbed an old radio out of the window display, nodding to Draco for them to go. Draco lingered for a moment looking back, the woman meeting his eyes with a steady intensity, her dark irises staring into his heart. Stumbling a little, Draco hurried after Dean.

He looked a bit odd moving down the street, a whole radio wedged awkwardly under his arm. Draco couldn’t help but think it would be hard to run with it. But, despite his misgivings, they made it out without interference.

They collapsed under a tree in the park, nervous energy painfully present in the air, and they waited. And waited. And waited. As the sun began to set, Draco started to pace, trying to work off the anxiety. Dean fiddled with his radio, enchanted as it was, it didn’t seem to require an independent power source. But, as far as Draco was concerned it didn’t seem to work, the other boy had yet to produce anything but static and the occasional stray word.

Nearly two hours after dark, Dirk stumbled into the clearing. Both boys shot to their feet and Draco felt an overwhelming wave of relief as Ted followed closely behind. But, to his shock, he realized the two men were not alone, beside them was a pair of goblins, each with a bag of their own.

“Ted?” Draco asked cautiously, but his uncle just waved his hand.

“Later,” he said, “we need to get going,”

The group linked up quickly, and without another word, they disappeared into the night.

\---

Ed tried to keep his face neutral even as his lungs heaved desperately against his rib cage. His arms were twisted behind his back, both his shoulders teetering between burning pain and numbness. The Death Eaters had long since discovered his automail but seemed more at a loss as to what to do with it than anything. For that much he was thankful.

Rowle was on a warpath. Ed hadn’t seen him in weeks, but the gaunt look of his frame and the wildness in his eyes told Ed that their time apart had been less than pleasant to the older man. He felt a little bit of pleasure at this knowledge, though he imagined it would have been more enjoyable if the Death Eater wasn’t currently taking his frustrations out on Ed’s own battered form.

He’d yet to speak beyond what was necessary to cause pain, and that in it of itself was alarming. In all their prior interactions Rowle had seemed far too pleased with the sound of his own voice. Part of Ed wanted to needle him, to find out what had changed, but luckily, self-preservation kept his lips shut.

This was a pain day. They wouldn’t send a brute like Rowle if they intended to actually ask him questions. It was best to keep his mouth shut. 

On those days when they tried for answers, he was greeted by an older man with a needle-like face and a sharp nose, a master of intentionality and purposeful pain. Ed never made it out of those days without giving something up, and the man knew it. 

The offer would hang there in the air, a promise that at any point Ed could put a stop to things. All he needed was to give up a few details at a time. So bit by bit the man chipped away. All Ed could do was make the information scattered, disconnected facts that made it nearly impossible to pull anything concrete from his ramblings.

When they didn’t send the man though, they sent the woman. Young and blonde and utterly terrifying. Days with her didn’t hurt, not really. She didn’t bother with the physical, rather she carefully pried and peeled his walls and attacked his mind with untiring devotion. And much like Dumbledore before her, Ed had been forced to show her Truth’s domain to stop her in her tracks. Unlike the old headmaster, she lacked the knowledge to make sense of what she was seeing- but that didn’t make Ed feel any less vulnerable.

But for now, though, It was only him and Rowle. His anger made him less precise, less focused, pain following pain until it was almost white noise. He could feel his thoughts drifting away as they sometimes did. He knew logically that this was- well at the very least that it wasn’t good. He had grown up in the military, he did know what stress and torture could do to a person. But it was one thing to have an understanding of something, a simple transition between cause and effect, in your head, and quite another to experience it first hand.

It was nicer like this, tucked away in his mind. It made the pain distant, like it was happening to someone else entirely. He could feel the man's breath on the side of his face, little bits of spittle splattering across his jaw as Rowle finally lost his temper in its entirety. He howled and raged and Ed heard none of it.

He almost didn’t feel himself get dragged away, too tucked away in whatever corner of his head he’d fallen into. He was almost worried he’d slip into Amestris if he wasn’t careful. Ed had felt his connection to the wizarding world weaken over the last few days, his dreams hazy and weird and his head pounding. He knew Olivander was worried, the man was spending more and more time against the bars that divided their cells trying to coax him into conversation. It wasn’t the first time he’d drifted between worlds since his capture, but the past few times had been... Almost muted somehow. It was getting harder to get home, and his body was paying the price for it.

He could feel time running out for himself, he needed to find a way out. Truth help him, he had to hope that Lizzy would find the array. It had been stupid and childish of him to assume that he would be able to retrieve the array from the Death Eaters uninhibited. And well- he was paying for that now.

He had the wand, had a solid lead on the array, he just needed a power source. There was an idea brewing in the back of his mind though- a half-formed thought he wasn’t yet ready to commit to. It could work, in fact, he was pretty sure it would work- but still… the logistics…

The shriek of his cell door alerted Ed to where he was, and he blinked dumbly at the stone floor not quite back in his own body yet. For whatever reason, the Death Eaters holding him up weren’t moving forward. He could hear them talking over his head, none of the words registering.

Then, as if a decision had been made, Ed was jerked forward and dropped. He was too out of it to catch himself even if his bindings had allowed for more extensive movements, his chin cracked against the stone. Ed blinked back the spots appearing in his vision and gave a half startled jolt as he felt hands on his back, pulling as if to turn him over.

He blinked weakly, allowing the movement, too tired to really protest. And, in any case, the hands didn't hurt. It had been a long time since anyone had touched him without ulterior motives, and he couldn't help the way his body curled into the spots of warmth.

He didn’t understand how Olivander could be there. Even with what little understanding of his surroundings that he currently had, he was sure he was nowhere within the man's reach. Then, in the dim light, he became aware of a face looming over him. Moments later the pale hazy shape above him solidified, and he recognized above him the face of Luna Lovegood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay and the weird release in the middle of the week- my computer decided to stop working properly and it took me a bit to get everything up and running again.

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go, the final stretch is upon us!
> 
> Unfortunately, I'm busier than I've ever been this year so in order to try and keep updates consistent this installment should come out every-other-week on Sundays. 
> 
> That being said, I'm so excited to be back writing this again, and I hope you all enjoy the final part.


End file.
